Japan in aNutshell

by Professor Solomon

Illustrated by Steve Solomon

Top Hat PressBALTIMORE

Copyright © 1997 by Top Hat Press

All rights reserved

ISBN 0-912509-06-6

Photographs by Leonard Solomon

http://www.professorsolomon.com

CONTENTS

Origins............................................................................Islands.............................................................................Fuji .................................................................................Shinto ...........................................................................Zen ...............................................................................

Bushido.........................................................................

The Buddha Crystal ......................................................

Tea Ceremony ...............................................................

Battle of Dan-no-ura.....................................................

Basho.............................................................................The Bronze Buddha.......................................................

Paper.............................................................................

Festival of the Dead ......................................................

The Sacrifice .................................................................

Hokusai.........................................................................

Spirit of the Sword ........................................................

Foxes.............................................................................

Bowing .........................................................................

Godzilla .......................................................................

How to Fold a Paper House .........................................

A Boon from Benten ....................................................Moon ...........................................................................Going There.................................................................Where to Stay...............................................................Sightseeing ...................................................................

Bathing ........................................................................

Dos and Don’ts ............................................................

Robots .........................................................................

Q & A .........................................................................

OriginsWho are the Japanese? Where did they come from? What

are the origins of this unique people?During the eighth century a scribe named Yasumaro

compiled—at the behest of the Empress—the oldest tra-ditions that had survived. He produced two books: theKojiki (“Records of Ancient Matters”) and the Nihongi(“Chronicles of Japan”). These provide information aboutthe earliest days of the nation, and about its cosmologicalorigins.

In the beginning, we are told, the world was a waterymass—a sea that surged in darkness. Over it hung theBridge of Heaven.

One day Izanagi and Izanami—brother-and-sister deities—strolled onto the Bridge. They peered into the abyssbelow. And Izanagi, wondering what was down there,thrust his spear into the water. As he withdrew it, brinedripped and congealed into a small island.

Izanagi and Izanami descended to the island. And theydecided to live there and produce a country.

They began by building a hut, with the spear as centerpost. The next step was to get married. For a ceremony,Izanagi suggested they walk in opposite directions aroundthe spear and meet on the other side. Izanami agreed. Butwhen they met, she said: “What a lovely young man youare!”

Izanagi grew wrath. The male, he insisted, must alwaysbe the first to speak. For Izanami to have done so wasimproper and unlucky. So they walked around the spear fora second time. “What a lovely maiden you are,” said Izana-gi as they met.

Now they were wed. And they coupled. And Izanamigave birth to the islands of Japan…to the mountains andplains, rivers and forests…to the gods and goddesses ofthose places.

And they created a sun goddess—Amaterasu—andplaced her in the sky. For the islands needed a ruler. And

they created a moon god, to keep her company. But Ama-terasu and the moon god quarreled. So they decided toseparate the pair—one presiding over day, the other overnight.

And they created a wind god, to dispel the mist thatshrouded the islands. And the islands emerged in splendor.And Amaterasu shone upon them, and reigned as theirchief deity.

But a quarrel arose between Amaterasu and the stormgod. And in a pique, she withdrew into a cave—plungingthe islands into darkness. In consternation the gods andgoddesses assembled. They discussed how to entice Ama-terasu out of the cave. Finally, they came up with a plan.

A mirror was placed in the Sacred Tree. And a party washeld—a raucous affair of wine and song. Mounting an over-turned tub, the goddess of mirth performed an indecentdance; and the others laughed uproariously at the sight.Amaterasu peeked out of the cave to see what was going on.“Why are you rejoicing?” she asked.

Someone pointed to the mirror, explaining that a goddessmore radiant than she had been found. Amaterasu steppedout of the cave for a closer look. And as she gazed upon herown radiance, they grabbed her and shut up the cave.

So Amaterasu resumed her place in the sky, illuminatingagain the islands of Japan.

But the darkness had left disorder in its wake—hadallowed wicked spirits to run rampant. So Amaterasu senther grandson, Ninigi, to rule over the islands directly. Assymbols of authority, she gave him three things: her neck-lace, a sword, and the mirror that had enticed her out of thecave.

“Descend,” she commanded him, “and rule. And maythy dynasty prosper and endure.”

Ninigi stepped from the Bridge of Heaven onto a moun-taintop. And he traveled throughout Japan, establishing hisrule over its gods and goddesses. And he wedded the god-dess of Mt. Fuji. But he offended her father, who laid acurse upon their offspring:

Thy life shall be as brief as that of a flower.And so was born man.

And Ninigi’s great-grandson was Jimmu Tennu, the firstEmperor of Japan. Jimmu conquered the islands, estab-lished a form of government, and built the first capital. Andhis dynasty would endure.*

This, then, is what the ancient chronicles tell us aboutthe origins of Japan. They go on to describe the doings ofthe early emperors.

And the modern view? What do science and scholarshiphave to say about those beginnings?

According to geologists, the Japanese islands rose fromthe sea during the Paleozoic era—the result of volcanicupheavals. And the Japanese people, according to ethnolo-gists, are the product of a series of migrations. NomadicMongoloids came to the islands via Korea; seafaring Malaysarrived from the south. Eventually they intermingled.†

The Kojiki and Nihongi were written, historians tell us,

* It endures to the present day: the current Emperor is the125th of the same lineage.

† That intermingling also included the Ainu (or Hairy Ainu, asthey were once known)—a Caucasian people who were the orig-inal inhabitants of the islands. During historical memory theAinu retreated to eastern Honshu, then to the wilds of Hokkai-do, where a few thousand remain to this day. Many place namesare of Ainu origin.

with a political purpose. By the eighth century the Yamatoclan had imposed its rule over rival clans. To legitimize thisascendency, the clan claimed for its ruler a divine origin—an unbroken descent from the sun goddess. The scribe edit-ed his material accordingly. And much of that material—the stories of gods and goddesses and early emperors—derived from the tribal lore of the Yamato.

Thus, the chronicles are a fanciful mixture of myth andhistory, fable and folklore. And the true origins of thenation must remain obscure.

Or must they? There is a Chinese legend that could castsome light on the question. It concerns a voyage of discov-ery launched from China during the Ch’in dynasty.

Leading this expedition was Hsu Fu, a Taoist sage. Hisaim was to locate the fabled Islands of Immortality—withtheir Elixir of Life—and settle them. Hsu Fu embarkedupon the Eastern Sea, we are told, with a fleet of ships;3000 men and women; livestock, seeds, and tools. Theyfound the islands, but not the elixir. Deciding to stay any-how, they settled in the Mt. Fuji area—a colony that wasthe nucleus of the Japanese people.*

* Hsu Fu would seem to have been a historical personage. Histomb is located in the town of Shingu, along with a shrine in hishonor. The locals say he taught their ancestors the art of naviga-tion.

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IslandsThe Chinese called them Jih-pen—the Place Where the

Sun Rises. To the inhabitants of the islands that becameNippon, or Nihon. And an early emperor—viewing hisdomain from a mountaintop and struck by its elongatedshape—dubbed it Akitsu-shima, or Dragonfly Island.

Peaks of a submerged mountain range, the islands forma chain that stretches from Siberia to Taiwan. They are sep-arated from the mainland by the Sea of Japan, with itsstrong currents. This barrier led to a physical and culturalisolation, and a unique perspective. It produced a hermitnation, for whom the dragonfly—with its eccentric beauty—is an apt emblem.

The Japanese archipelago comprises thousands ofislands. Most of them are small; and it is the four mainislands—Hokkaido, Honshu, Shikoku, and Kyushu—thatprovide the nation with living space. Of these Honshu hasthe largest population; while Hokkaido, in the north, is stillsparsely settled.*

Japan is basically mountainous—three-quarters of itsterrain. These mountains are covered with forest and large-ly uninhabited. The population is crowded into valleys,coastal plains, and sprawling cities. Every inch of availableland is cultivated; and a bird’s-eye view reveals interlockingcontours of mountain, river, and field.

Swift and unnavigable, the rivers have played a minorrole in the settlement of the nation. Rather, it is the sea thathas shaped Japan—and fed her. (The Japanese consume atenth of the world’s ocean harvest.) The coastline meandersendlessly (its total length approaching that of the equa-tor); and no cove or bay or inlet is without its fishing vil-lage.

* The last refuge of the Ainu, the northern island was original-ly called Yezo, or Land of the Barbarians. It was renamed Hok-kaido, or Gateway to the Northern Sea, as a public relations ployto attract settlers.

Geologically, the islands are young and unstable, havingbeen thrust from the sea in relatively recent times. Thelegacy of that upheaval is an abundance of hot springs, gey-sers, volcanos (240 altogether, 36 of them active), and sul-phurous exhalations from deep within the earth. But themost common reminder of Japan’s instability are earth-quakes. Daily occurrences, they are caused by movementsof the Pacific Plate beneath the islands.*

Subject to frequent natural disasters—earthquakes, tidalwaves, volcanic eruptions—and short on habitable space,these islands would seem an unfortunate choice for settle-ment. Yet they offer a compensation: ubiquitous scenicbeauty. One is never far from a breathtaking vista—ofmountains or sea or both. The farmer plants below a cloud-capped peak. The traveler follows a winding mountainroad. The fisherman casts his net into a misty lagoon. Andthe poet sighs at a crag with its lonely pine.

How this landscape has affected—has shaped—theJapanese soul may only be guessed at by an outsider. Lafca-dio Hearn (see page 148) has attributed the artistic sensi-bility of the Japanese to the mountains in whose shadowthey dwell:

It is the mists that make the magic of the backgrounds;yet even without them there is a strange, wild, dark beau-ty in Japanese landscapes, a beauty not easily defined inwords. The secret of it must be sought in the extraordinarylines of the mountains, in the strangely abrupt crumplingand jagging of the ranges; no two masses closely resemblingeach other, every one having a fantasticality of its own.When the chains reach to any considerable height, softlyswelling lines are rare: the general characteristic is abrupt-ness, and the charm is the charm of Irregularity.

Doubtless this weird Nature first inspired the Japanesewith their unique sense of the value of irregularity in dec-oration,—taught them that single secret of composition

* Quakes were once attributed to the movements of a giant fish.This creature was believed to be sleeping beneath Japan. Fromtime to time it would stir, striking the sea floor with its tail andcausing an earthquake. When it merely arched its back, theresult was a tidal wave.

which distinguishes their art from all other art.…thatNature’s greatest charm is irregularity.

This most aesthetic of peoples does appreciate the charm—as well as the sacredness—of its mountains. Indeed, itsunique insight may be that the two are mysteriously linked.

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FujiIn ancient times the mountains of Japan were sacred

places. Their shrouded peaks were deemed a gateway to theOther World; their wild recesses, the dwelling place of godsand ghosts. They were revered, too, as a divine source ofwater. The streams that flowed to the rice paddies belowwere a gift from the goddess of the mountain. Few moun-tains were without such a goddess, or a pair of shrines in herhonor (a small one near the summit; a more elaborate one—for prayers and ceremonies—at the base). And addingto the mystery of mountains were their sole inhabitants:the yamabushi (“mountain hermits”). These ascetics werereputed to possess magical powers, and to be in communi-cation with supernatural beings. They were sought out ashealers.

Today only a few mountains have retained their sacredstatus. But one of them—a dormant volcano 60 miles northof Tokyo—has become the subject of a national cult. It hasinherited the reverence once accorded to one’s local moun-tain. I am referring, of course, to Mt. Fuji.

The high regard in which Fuji is held is suggested by thecharacters used to represent its name. They signify “not-two”—that is, peerless, one-of-a-kind. The name itselfderives from Fuchi: the Ainu goddess of fire who inhabitedthe volcano. One can imagine the awe inspired in the Ainu,and in the Japanese who supplanted them, by a mountainthat spewed fire. And in its day, Fuji was fiery indeed.

Tradition has it that Mt. Fuji rose out of the ground—amid smoke and fire—during an earthquake in the fifthyear of the Seventh Emperor Korei (286 B.C.). Geologists,it is true, scoff at this account, insisting on a much earlierformation. But there were witnesses. A woodsman namedVisu is said to have lived on the plain where the mountainemerged. As he and his family were going to bed that night,they heard a rumbling and felt their hut shake. Runningoutside, they stared in amazement at the volcano that was

* The woodsman Visu was to become the Rip Van Winkle ofFuji. It seems that witnessing the birth of the mountain left himexceedingly pious—so much so that he did nothing but pray allday, neglecting his livelihood and family. When his wife protest-ed, he grabbed his ax and stalked out of the house, shouting thathe would have nothing more to do with her.

Visu climbed into the wilds of Fuji. There he wandered about,mumbling prayers and denouncing his wife. Suddenly he cameupon two aristocratic ladies, sitting by a stream and playing go.He sat down beside them and watched, fascinated. They ignoredhim, absorbed in their moves and caught up in what seemed anendless game. All afternoon he watched, until one of the ladies

made a bad move. “Mistake!” he cried out—whereupon theychanged into foxes and ran off. Visu tried to chase after them,but found, to his dismay, that his legs had become stiff. More-over, his beard had grown to several feet in length; and his axhandle had dissolved into dust.

When able to walk again, Visu decided to leave the mountainand return to his hut. But upon arriving at its site, he found bothhut and family gone. An old woman came walking by. He askedher what had become of the hut and told her his name. “Visu?”she said. “Impossible! That fellow lived around here 300 yearsago. Wandered off one day and was never seen again.”

Visu related what had happened; and the woman said he

rising out of the earth.*Perhaps this account was inspired by a major eruption

that changed the shape of the mountain. For Fuji has erupt-ed frequently—eighteen times—in historical memory.Each blast enhanced the supernatural awe in which themountain was held. On one occasion (in 865), a palace wasseen hovering in the flames. Another time precious gemswere reported to have spewed from the mountain. And aluminous cloud was occasionally glimpsed above the crater.It was believed to surround the goddess Sengen. Apparent-ly she hovered there and kept an eye out for any pilgrims tothe summit. Those deemed insufficiently pure of heart shehurled back to earth.

The last eruption took place in 1707, adding a new humpto the mountain and covering distant Edo (present-dayTokyo) with a layer of ash. Fuji is now considered dormant.But the geological underpinnings of Japan are unstable; andone never knows. The fire goddess could return.*

Mt. Fuji (or Fujisan, as it is called) is an impressive sight.Its bluish cone is capped with snow and mantled withclouds. The highest mountain in Japan, it can be seen forhundreds of miles. The Japanese are connoisseurs of thisview, which alters subtly, depending on the direction, dis-tance, weather, and light. With its unique shape, historicalassociations, and mystic aura, Fuji has become the nation’ssymbol.

It has also been a frequent subject for poets and painters.The eighth-century poet Yamabe no Akahito wrote:

Of this peak with praises shall I ringAs long as I have any breath to sing.

900 years later Basho, gazing toward the mountain on a

* For a cinematic imagining of that return, see Godzilla vs.Mothra (1964). As the monsters battle it out at the foot of Fuji,the mountain suddenly erupts. Even Godzilla is taken aback.

deserved such a fate—for having neglected his family. Visu nod-ded and looked contrite. “There is a lesson here,” he said. “Allprayer, no work: lifestyle of a jerk.”

He returned to the mountain and died soon thereafter. It is said that his ghost appears on Fuji whenever the moon is

bright.

rainy day, composed a haiku:

Invisible in winter rain and mistStill a joy is Fuji—to this Fujiist!

And Hokusai paid tribute to the mountain with a seriesof color prints, in his 36 Views of Fuji.

Accepting these accolades with modesty has been Sen-gen, the goddess of the mountain. She continues to resideon Fuji, ready to hurl from its heights any unworthy pil-grim. And pilgrims have continued to climb the mountain,and to pray at shrines in the vicinity.

Of the origin of one of those shrines—built beneath atree in the village of Kamiide—a tale is told.

l

During the reign of Emperor Go Ichijo, the plague hadcome to Kamiide. Among those afflicted was the mother ofa young man named Yosoji. Yosoji tried every sort of cure,to no avail. Finally he went to see Kamo, a yamabushi wholived at the foot of Fuji.

Kamo told him of a spring on the lower slope of the

mountain. Of divine origin, its waters were curative. Butgetting to this spring was dangerous, said Kamo. The pathwas rough and steep; the forest, full of beasts and demons.One might not return, he warned.

But Yosoji got a jar and set out in search of the spring.Surrounded by the gloomy depths of the forest, he trudgedup the path. The climb was strenuous. But he pressed on,determined to obtain water from the spring.

In a glade the path branched off in several directions.Yosoji halted, unsure of the way. As he deliberated, a maid-en emerged from the forest. Her long hair tumbled over awhite robe. Her eyes were bright and lively. She asked Yoso-ji what had brought him to the mountain. When he toldher, she offered to guide him to the spring.

Together they climbed on. How fortunate I am, thoughtYosoji, to have encountered this maiden. And how lovely she is.

The path took a sharp turn. And there was the spring,gushing from a cleft in a rock.

“Drink,” said the maiden, “to protect yourself from theplague. And fill your jar, that your mother may be cured.But hurry. It is not safe to be on the mountain after dark.”

Yosoji fell to his knees and drank and filled the jar. Thenthe maiden escorted him back to the glade. Instructing himto return in three days for more water, she slipped away intothe forest.

Three days later he returned to the glade, to find themaiden awaiting him. As they climbed to the spring, theychatted. And he found himself taken with her beauty—hergraceful gait—her melodious voice.

“What is your name?” he asked. “Where do you live?”“Such things you need not know.”He filled his jar at the spring. And she told him to keep

coming for water until his mother was fully recovered. Also,he was to give water to others in the village who were ill.

He did as she said. And it was not long before everyonehad recovered from the plague. Grateful to Kamo for hisadvice, the villagers filled a bag with gifts. Yosoji deliveredit to the yamabushi.

And he was about to return home, when it occurred tohim that the maiden—whose identity he was still curious

to learn—needed to be thanked, too. Nor would it be amissto offer prayers at the spring. So once again Yosoji climbedthe path.

This time she was not waiting in the glade. But he knewthe way and continued on alone. Through the foliage hecaught glimpses of the summit of Fuji and the clouds thatsurrounded it. Arriving at the spring, he bowed in prayer.

A shadow appeared beside him. Yosoji turned and gazedupon the maiden. They looked into each other’s eyes; andher beauty thrilled him more than ever.

“Why have you returned?” she said. “Have not all recov-ered?”

“They have. I am here simply to thank you for your help.And to ask again your name.”

“You earned my help, through your bravery and devo-tion. As to who I am.…”

She smiled and waved a camellia branch, as if beckoningto the sky. And from the clouds that hung about Fuji camea mist. It descended on the maiden and enveloped her.

Yosoji began to weep. For he realized that this was Sen-gen, the goddess of the mountain. And he realized, too, thathe had returned not merely to express his gratitude. Nor tosatisfy his curiosity. Nor to pray. But to gaze upon the maid-en with whom he had fallen in love.

Sengen rose into the air, the mist swirling about her. Anddropping the camellia branch at his feet—a token of herlove for him—she disappeared into the clouds.

Yosoji picked up the branch and returned with it toKamiide. He planted and tended it. And it grew into a greattree, beneath which the villagers built a shrine.

The tree and shrine exist to this day. The dew from theleaves of the tree is said to be an effective cure for eye ail-ments.

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ShintoTo the bewilderment of Westerners, a Japanese may

adhere to several religions. Generally, these are Buddhism,Confucianism, and Shinto. Each has a province in the lifeof the individual. Buddhism focuses on death and the soul’sfuture. Confucianism is concerned with ethics and socialmatters. And Shinto—an ancient faith indigenous to Japan—oversees daily life.

In examining Shinto, we may become further confound-ed. For it does not conform to our expectations for a reli-gion. It has no hierarchy, theology, or founder—no sacredscriptures (although the Kojiki and Nihongi serve as author-itative sources for many of its traditions) or Supreme Deity.And while Shinto translates as “the way of the gods,” itoffers scant information about those gods. What it does pro-vide is a way of connecting with them—an elaborate set ofrituals and folkways with which to access the divine.

That is to say, to commune with the kami.What are the kami? They are the native gods—the sacred

spirits—the supernatural powers—of Japan. Taking theirname from a word meaning “above” or “superior,” they arethe forces that matter. They are the arbiters of destiny, andare worshiped as such. A Shintoist prays and makes offer-ings to the kami. He seeks to please and obey them. Theyare the ultimate sources of good and ill—spiritual forcesthat to ignore or offend would be folly.

Reckoning with them, however, is no simple matter. Forthe number of kami is endless—myriad upon myriad ofthem—and their form diverse. The most common type arenature spirits. These inhabit notable features of the land-scape. A cave, mountain, island, giant tree, junction ofrivers, deep forest, secluded pond, rock with a curious shape—any of these are likely to harbor a kami. Also having akami are natural phenomena such as winds and storms. Anunusual animal may have one. In short, anything thatinspires awe or mystery may be possessed of a kami, andmust be dealt with accordingly.

Yet not all kami are associated with nature. A particularterritory (or the clan that occupies it) may have its kami—its guardian spirit. An occupation, sphere of activity, or spe-cial problem may have one, protecting or aiding those whocall upon it. There is, for instance, a kami for healing; onefor help in exams; one for fertility; one for defense againstinsects; one for irrigation. A number of these were onceliving persons. For a kami can be some great personage ofthe past—a saint, a shogun, a scholar—who was deifiedupon his death.*

Finally, there are kami that resemble the gods of Greekand Roman mythology. The foremost among them is Ama-terasu, the sun goddess, who rules over heaven and earth.Unlike most kami, this group has distinctly human charac-teristics.†

The kami, then, are the supernatural forces to which oneturns when in need. And how does one do that? How doesone establish contact with a kami? How does one enter intoits presence and seek its aid?

By visiting a shrine.There are more than 80,000 shrines in Japan. Each pro-

vides a dwelling place for a particular kami. One goes thereto pray or worship or renew oneself; to celebrate a birth ormarriage; or simply to experience awe and mystery. Stand-ing in front of a shrine, the poet Saigyo remarked: “I knownot what lies within, but my eyes are filled with tears ofgratitude.”

A typical shrine will be located in a grove of trees. Thismay be the scene of the kami’s original manifestation, orsimply a pleasing locale—a quiet, isolated site conducive to

* The ordinary dead also were important in the Shinto schemeof things. Their function has been taken over, however, by Bud-dhism. See “Festival of the Dead.”

† These gods and goddesses reside at their respective shrines,scattered throughout the country. But once a year they gather fora conference at the ancient Shrine of Izumo. The main order ofbusiness is to arrange marriages for the coming year. The confer-ence lasts for most of October. So October is known as the monthwithout gods: absent from their shrines, they are unavailable forsupplication.

a spiritual experience. A sakaki (the sacred tree) may grownearby. A spring may gush from the earth. The natural sur-roundings are important, and are considered part of theshrine.*

Important too is the approach to a shrine. The path leadsthrough an arch called a torii. (The word means “birdperch.”) The torii serves as gateway to the sacred precincts.Passing through it, one begins to feel the presence of thedivine. The mundane world has been left behind.

The sanctuary itself is a simple building—unpretentiousyet elegant. It is old and made of wood (to harmonize withthe surrounding trees). Guarding its entrance may be a pairof stone lions. Out front are colored streamers (to attract thekami); a water basin; and a box for offerings. But the keyelement is kept in the inner sanctum, where only the priestmay enter. It is an object called the shintai—generally amirror, jewel, or sword. In this sacred object resides the kami.Without it the shrine would be an ordinary place. With it

* In cities shrines are sometimes built on the roofs of officebuildings. Yet it was deemed crucial that they retain a connectionwith the spirit of the earth. The solution has been to run a soil-filled pipe between the shrine and the ground.

the site is sanctified.*No regular services are held at a shrine. Instead, wor-

shipers come when they feel the need. They begin by kneel-ing at the basin and washing their hands and mouth. Thispurification rite (known as misogi) is fundamental to Shin-to, which sees man in terms of pure and impure rather thangood and evil. One cannot connect with a kami unless spir-itually purified—cleansed of polluting influences—rid ofunclean spirits. In ancient times purification involvedimmersion in a lake, river, or waterfall. The rite has beensimplified, but remains essential.†

After ablution, one bows and claps twice. The clapsattract the attention of the kami. (A bell may also be rung.)One then drops a coin in the box, and offers a silent prayer—communes with the kami. One may pray for health, fer-tility, a good harvest, protection from fire or flood. It is alsocustomary to inscribe a prayer on a wooden tablet. Finallyone stops at a stall on the grounds and makes a purchase:an amulet, a slip of paper with a fortune on it, or an artifactfor one’s kamidana.**

At least one priest resides at any sizeable shrine. Butunless it is a special occasion or time of day, the worshiperswill have no contact with him. For the Shinto priest con-

* For anyone other than a priest to gaze upon the shintai wouldbe an impious act. A certain Lord Naomasu once visited theShrine of Izumo and demanded to be shown its sacred object.The priests protested; but Naomasu forced them to open theinner sanctum. Revealed was a large abalone, its bulk concealingthe shintai. Naomasu came closer—whereupon the abalonetransformed itself into a giant snake and hissed menacingly.Naomasu fled, and never again trifled with a god.

† According to the Kojiki, ritual purification originated withthe gods. When Izanami died and went to the Underworld, Iza-nagi followed her there. He unwisely gazed upon her and becamepolluted. To restore himself, he hurried home and engaged inwater purification. The rite was passed down to men.

** The kamidana (“god shelf ”) is a small shrine found in tradi-tional households. It contains talismans (one for Amaterasu,another for the local kami); memorial tablets for one’s ancestors;and offerings such as sake, rice, or cakes. Domestic prayers arerecited at the kamidana.

ducts no service, delivers no sermon, offers no sage advice.He is solely a ritualist—a mediator between kami and wor-shiper. His duties include the recital of prayers, the perfor-mance of rites, and the overseeing of offerings. Garbed inheaddress and robe, he blesses infants and performs mar-riages.

And, of course, he presides over the annual matsuri, orfestival.

Many shrines are the focus of an elaborate festival. Heldin honor of the kami, these festivals go back centuries.Their origins are diverse. Some began as a plea to the kamifor protection—against plague, enemy, earthquake. Or aspropitiation for an abundant harvest. Or as thanks for aboon bestowed on the community. Others commemoratesome historical incident—a military victory, say. Otherssimply pay homage to the kami.

Such festivals evolved locally. So each acquired its owntheme and imagery. There is a Sacred Post Festival, WhaleFestival, Welcoming the Rice Kami Festival, Laughing Fes-tival, Open Fan Festival, Spear Festival, Dummy Festival,Sacred Ball Catching Festival, Lantern Festival, UmbrellaFestival, Ship Festival, Kite Flying Festival, Fire Festival,Rock Gathering Festival, Naked Festival—and hundredsmore. But for all their individuality, Japan’s festivals sharethe same set of rituals. And all have the same aim: to renewthe bond between kami and worshipers.

A festival takes place throughout town. But it begins atthe shrine. The sanctuary has been specially decorated withflowers, banners, and streamers. Elsewhere on the groundsthe priests have been preparing themselves: bathing repeat-edly and abstaining from certain acts. They gather now atthe sanctuary, along with a select group of laymen, and con-duct a purification ceremony.

Then priests and laymen approach the inner sanctumand prostrate themselves at the door. Sacred music isplayed; an eerie chant is intoned; and the door is opened.Revealed is the shintai—the mirror, sword, or jewel inwhich the kami resides.

An offering of food or sake is brought forward: an invi-tation to the kami to attend the festival. The door is closed;

and the group adjourns to a banquet hall. There they holda sacred feast, which begins with a ritual sipping of sake.But the event soon becomes more informal—and the sakeflows. Guests of the kami, they commune with it in a joyfulfashion.

Now comes the high point of the festival: the procession.Priests and laymen return to the sanctuary, bringing withthem the mikoshi, or sacred palanquin. The mikoshi is aminiature shrine attached to poles. It is ornate, gilded, andhung with bells. Atop it is a bronze hoo.*

Again the inner sanctum is opened. And in a solemn rit-ual, the kami is transferred to a substitute shintai inside themikoshi. Here it will reside for the duration of the festival.

Hoisting the mikoshi onto their shoulders, the laymen—directed by the priests—begin the procession. The idea isto transport the kami throughout the town, that it maybestow its blessings upon all. Exhilarated by the nature ofthe occasion (and having drunk large amounts of sake), thelaymen dance and reel and sing as they go.

But the mikoshi bearers are only the vanguard of a largerprocession. For they are soon joined by a collection of floats.On these wagons are giant figures—dragons, fish, samu-rai—that have been crafted from paper; historical tableaux;displays of flowers; and costumed maidens, dancers, andmusicians. To the beat of drums, the procession windsthrough the streets.

Lining the route are local residents and visitors. Thesefestival-goers have also been enjoying puppet plays, gamebooths, fortunetelling birds, sumo bouts, tug-of-warmatches, exhibitions of classical dance. They have beenbuying toys, amulets, sake, snacks. Such amusements areconsidered an offering to the kami. As the crowd eats,drinks, and socializes, a rare loosening of restraints isallowed—a dispensation from the kami. The bond betweenkami and worshipers is being renewed; and it is a joyfuloccasion.

Also being renewed is a sense of community. For the fes-

* The hoo is the legendary phoenix of the Orient. It is said toappear in a country only when a wise king rules.

tival serves to bring together the local parishioners. (Eventhose who have moved away return to their hometown forits annual festival.) They have gathered to receive the bless-ing of the kami—to pray for health and prosperity—to cel-ebrate their solidarity as a group.

Among those present are a growing number of personswho have abandoned Shinto—who view it as an outmodedset of superstitions. They have come for the carnival; andthey smile tolerantly upon the religious aspects of the festi-val. Yet as modern-minded as they are, they find themselvesaffected by the aura of mystery that hovers about the miko-shi. By the transcendental gleam of the sacred palanquin.

By the power of the kami as it passes among them.

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ZenA thousand years after the Indian prince Gautama had

become the Buddha—the Enlightened One—while sittingunder a bo tree, Buddhism (the codification and elabora-tion of his teachings) reached China and Japan. There itflowered into a number of sects. One of these—known inChina as Ch’an (“meditation”) Buddhism, and in Japan asZen—was to be a major influence on Japanese civiliza-tion.*

What is Zen? The question can be a dangerous one, asnovice monks in Zen monasteries can attest. Putting it totheir Master, many have been answered with a slap, kick,or bop on the head. The luckier ones were answered non-sensically, told to go chop wood, or called “Blockhead!”Those who persevered have spent years trying to compre-hend the nature of Zen—sometimes succeeding, sometimesnot. What they have never succeeded in doing, however,has been to get a straight answer from their Master.

“What is the fundamental teaching of the Buddha?”asked one monk. “There’s enough breeze in this fan to keepme cool,” replied his Master.

* The founder of the Zen sect was Bodhidharma, an Indianmonk who had wandered into China. Legend has it that Bod-hidharma was summoned to the palace at Nanking, and broughtbefore Emperor Wu. A fervid supporter of Buddhism, theEmperor boasted of his accomplishments in behalf of the faith—building temples, copying scriptures, securing converts—andasked what his reward would be, in this world and the next. Noreward whatsoever, said Bodhidharma. Frowning, the Emperorasked what the basic principle of Buddhism was. Nothingness,vast nothingness, said the monk. Taken aback by these puzzlingreplies, the Emperor asked: “Who are you, anyhow?” “No idea,”said Bodhidharma.

Departing the palace, Bodhidharma made his way to a cave-temple in the mountains. There he sat in meditation for nineyears, staring at a wall. As his followers grew in number, ZenBuddhism was born.

“What is the Buddha?” asked another monk. His Mas-ter replied: “I can play the drum. Boom-boom. Boom-boom.”

What is going on here? What sort of religion is this? Andwho are these so-called Masters—these antic churls, soenamored of absurdities and seemingly indifferent to theprogress of their pupils?

The answer is that they are the eloquent spokesmen of aworthy tradition. But that tradition has charged them witha difficult task; and in seeking to perform it, they oftenresemble slapstick comedians.

That task is the communication of the ineffable. The teach-ing of a truth that cannot be expounded. The imparting ofa Higher Knowledge that is beyond words. For such (in afew useless words) is the aim of Zen.

Now a quest for enlightenment is not unique to Zen. Alldenominations of Buddhism seek to understand the Uni-verse, and to enter into a harmonious relationship with it.To that end they have employed both intellectual and cer-emonial means. In the temples and monasteries of the Bud-dhist world, logical discourse has flourished. Elaborate rit-uals have evolved. Endless volumes of theology have beenwritten, circulated, and diligently perused.

But Zen alone has disdained such activity—in favor ofan intuitive approach.

Learn to see with the inner eye, Zen urges seekers ofenlightenment. Forsake reason, logical discourse, and books(and while you’re at it, toss in dogma, ceremony, and icons).For a keener faculty than the intellect is available to you.There is a direct route to the Highest Truth—to the vitalspirit of the Buddha. And that is via intuition. Via theheart, not the mind.*

* Westerners may find it difficult to conceive of a non-rational-istic mode of philosophizing. The story is told of the abbot of aZen monastery who gave to an American a gift of two dolls. Onedoll was a Daruma (the Japanese name for Bodhidharma). Daru-ma dolls are weighted at their base, the abbot explained. Pushedover, they spring back up. But the second doll was weighted inthe head—pushed over, it stayed down.

“It represents Westerners,” said the abbot, “with their top-

What Zen offers is a “hands-on” brand of enlightenment—a moment of perception—an experience of the HighestTruth. And it calls that experience satori.

What exactly is satori? Words cannot describe it, theMasters tell us (when they are not bopping or berating us).It is an ineffable but deeply affecting experience—aninsight that opens a window on Reality—a mental flashthat illumines the cosmos.

How does one achieve this insight? Via a pair of tech-niques that are the hallmark of Zen: meditation and pon-dering koans.*

Meditation is a straightforward affair: one sits and emp-ties one’s mind. Koans are another matter. These absurdistparables (of which about 1700 have been collected over thecenturies) are the enigmatic responses of Masters to ques-tions. They are a species of riddle or paradox. A novicemonk is given a koan and told to go ponder it. At first(often for years) he will find it baffling. For the koan is notmeant to make sense, but to jolt the monk out of his accus-tomed mode of thinking—to defy and discredit logical

heavy intellectual approach.”

* Two schools of Zen have co-existed since the earliest days.The gradual school (Soto) stresses meditation; the sudden school(Rinzai), koans.

If you’re in a hurry, be aware that even the sudden school cantake years: one meditates and ponders koans…until ripe for sud-den enlightenment. But you might check out a newly-arisenschool: Master Ishigoro’s Prompt-Awakening Zen. This crashcourse can bring on an initial phase of satori, it is claimed, with-in five days.

analysis. Its purpose is to force him to abandon the intel-lect, in favor of an intuitive approach. If he does so, he is onthe road to satori. For to understand one’s koan is to under-stand the state of mind of one’s Master—and thus to par-take of his consciousness.

Some koans:

A monk asked: “Everything returns to the One—but theOne, to where does it return?” Master Joshu answered:“When I was in Seiju province, I had a robe that weighedseven pounds.”

“I’m new here,” said a monk. “How should I go aboutstudying?” The Master said to him: “Do you hear that bab-bling brook?” “Yes.” “That’s the entrance.”

“I am trying to avoid ordinary knowledge and reasoning,”said a monk. “Give me something in the way of Zen toponder.” His Master knocked him on the head.

“What is the road to wisdom?” asked a monk. His Masterreplied: “When you’re hungry, eat. When tired, sleep.”

The idea is to short-circuit the rational mind. By creatinga psychological impasse, koans allow the intuitive faculty totake over. And when that happens, a direct perception ofthe Truth may come rushing in. That rushing in—that sud-den illumination—is satori.

A monk who has achieved it (or who believes he has) willsit down and compose a satori poem. He then approacheshis Master and explains the koan. The Master recognizeswhether or not satori has been achieved. If it has, the monkgets certified.

What is satori like? Yun-men describes the moment asone’s mind coming to a halt—like an old rat that finds itselftrapped in a cul-de-sac—and one crying out: “Ah, this!”The entire canon of Buddhist scriptures, declares Yun-men,is but a commentary on that cry of “Ah, this!”

That momentous occasion—that lightninglike insightinto the nature of Reality—can come at any time. Somemonks have achieved satori while pondering a koan. But

Jakushitzu achieved it upon being slapped by his Master.(He had rashly asked, “What is Truth?”) Another monk waslistening to the roar of a waterfall, when it came. Another,exhausted after a lengthy meditation, tripped and fell—and lo, satori! And a classic case is that of Chokei.

Chokei had studied Zen for many years, going from oneMaster to another and wearing out seven meditation pil-lows. Yet enlightenment eluded him. Then one morninghe achieved satori—while rolling up the blind on a win-

dow. Immediately he sat down and composed his satoripoem:

The blind goes up and everything is seen:An entirely altered, most enthralling scene.If anyone asks me where my mind’s been ledI’ll take my broom and bop him on the head!

The experience itself—an exultation (like “walking onair”)—a feeling that everything is connected and makesperfect sense—a rapture of revelation—does not last long.But its effects are permanent. The monk will have devel-oped a new consciousness, a new sense of the world and ofhow to live in it.

And how does he go about living in it? To start with, heseeks to control his mind—to keep it free of hankerings,opinions, and random thoughts. This sought-after state isknown as Buddha Mind, Original Mind, or No-Mind.“Abide in the Buddha Mind,” said Master Benkei, “that’s

what it’s all about.”Having cleared his consciousness, the monk moves on to

his life. He seeks to free it of complications and attach-ments. In touch now with Reality, he has need of little else.He has had a glimpse of the Glorious; and the result is aheightened awareness—an appreciation of the daily—aresolve to live fully in the moment. As one Zen-man had it:

How full of wonder, how indescribably good;I fill my jug of water, I gather wood.

And—perhaps his prime challenge—the monk seeks tomaintain an inner repose, an unshakable serenity. No mat-ter what life brings, he endeavors to preserve his equanim-ity. Take, for example, Master Muso.

Accompanied by a disciple, Muso had boarded a crowdedferryboat. As it was about to depart, a samurai ran up andjumped in, nearly swamping the boat. And as it crossed theriver, the samurai—who was drunk—lurched dangerouslyback and forth.

“This boat’s too crowded,” said the samurai. And point-ing at Muso, he said: “Let’s toss the monk overboard.”

“Calm down,” said Muso. “We’ll be there soon.”“Who are you telling to calm down!” roared the samu-

rai. “Jump out and swim—or I’ll kill you!”Unfazed by the threat, Muso maintained a look of calm.

This so infuriated the samurai that he struck Muso on thehead with the handle of his fan.

The disciple begged permission to fight the samurai. ButMuso—reeling from the blow yet still unruffled—shookhis head. “What’s the big deal?” he said. “This is just thesort of situation we train ourselves to withstand. We mustlive up to our ideals.” And turning to the samurai, he ver-sified:

We two are players in a game, I deem,As brief and insubstantial as a dream.

When the boat landed and everyone disembarked, thesamurai followed after Muso. He approached the Master,

* Another master of self-control was Kaishu. He and some fel-low monks were once crossing a river during a storm. As thewaters boiled about the boat, his companions—terrified for theirlives—began to pray to a goddess for help. But Kaishu sat andmeditated, as calm as ever. When they had safely reached shore,he chided his companions. “What’s the point of studying Zen,”said Kaishu, “if one cannot put it to use. The goddess has beenamused by your weakness.”

But the prize for equanimity (and for living in the moment)must go to Master Tokai. He was staying overnight at a temple,when fire broke out in the kitchen. A monk burst into Tokai’sroom, shouting “Fire, fire!”

“Where?” asked Tokai, sitting up drowsily in bed.“In the kitchen! Flee for your life, Master!” “The kitchen, you say?” murmured Tokai. “Okay, let me know

when it gets to the hallway.” And he went back to sleep.

fell to his knees, and begged to become a disciple.*Clearly, here is a discipline—an outlook—a faith—to be

reckoned with.So what exactly is Zen? Have we arrived at any rudi-

mentary understanding? Or is the entire matter indeedbeyond the reach of analysis?

Let’s ask Master Fu.Fu had been summoned to the palace, by the Emperor of

Ryo, to expound upon a Buddhist scripture. He arrived,took his place on the lecture platform, and rapped forsilence. Then, after staring intently at the Emperor andassembled court, he departed—without having said a word.

The Emperor sat frowning. A minister approached and

asked if he had understood Master Fu. No, said the Emperor.“Too bad,” said the minister. “That’s the most eloquent

he’s ever been!”Perhaps Zen is simply a mystery.A mystery that lies at the heart of Japanese civilization.

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BushidoJust as Zen was taking root in Japan, a warrior class—the

samurai—rose to prominence. Fierce yet discerning men,they found themselves attracted to the new sect. Its direct-ness appealed to their manly sensibilities. Its emphasis onintuition struck them as practical. Its indifference to deathseemed relevant to their line of work. And its monastic tra-ditions—discipline, asceticism, a concern with the daily—would translate readily into a samurai lifestyle.

So the samurai began to frequent monasteries. Theymeditated, pondered koans, endured thwacks and shouts.And as the teachings of Zen merged with their martialways, the result was a code of conduct called Bushido—theWay of a Warrior. Comparable to the code of chivalry(which arose in France around the same time), it provideda samurai with everything he needed: moral guidelines,fighting skills, and a practical philosophy.

Central to Bushido were those moral guidelines, whichset forth the ideal character of a warrior. Of prime impor-tance was the overcoming of any fear of death. A samuraiwas to face death unflinchingly, whether in battle or (shouldcircumstances dictate) in the grim ritual of the short sword.Mandatory, too, were loyalty to one’s lord, and the uphold-ing of one’s honor in matters large and small. The list goeson. Duty, courage, fortitude, frugality, generosity, self-con-trol—these and other virtues were expected of the samurai.It was a lengthy—and daunting—job description.

As for the technical aspects of his calling, a samuraiunderwent rigorous training. Among the required skillswere swordsmanship, horsemanship, and archery. Swords-manship was paramount; for his chief opportunities forglory (or for a fatal mishap) would come in one-on-oneencounters with the enemy. Many hours were spent prac-ticing with a wooden staff, as he prepared to take up thesword that would be made expressly for him.*

* A skilled blacksmith forged the sword, using a secret process

Thus far the Japanese warrior resembles his medievalcounterpart in the West. But where they part company is intheir philosophies. The French chevalier saw himself as asoldier of God, a defender of the faith; whereas the samuraihad a down-to-earth outlook. Spirituality was important tohim—but as a practical matter. Its function was to aid hisswordsmanship. And that was where Zen truly came intothe picture.

For the samurai was aware that swordsmanship involvedmore than technique. Also required was a mental discipline.To defeat an opponent, one had to be in the proper state ofmind. And what was that state? The mindlessness of Zen!The samurai had to cultivate the same blankness, compo-sure, and spontaneity as the monk. He had to empty hismind—unfetter it from the bonds of thought—banish anyconcern with outcome or tactics.

Then and only then would he be ready to fight. Ready toflow, like a ball in a stream. His actions and reactions wouldbe automatic, arising from the deep well of instinct—fromthe Original Mind. His sword would seem to have acquireda life of its own. His thrusts and parries would be instantand effective.

So the samurai set out to acquire the spirit of Zen, andapply it to his swordsmanship. What led the monk to satoriwould lead the warrior to victory. The key was to empty themind. Ichiun, a master swordsman, said he wielded hisweapon in the same spirit in which he ate breakfast. In eachcase he simply went about his daily business, with a coolmindlessness.

Yet one might ask the samurai if there was not a contra-diction here. How could the Way of a Warrior conjoin witha form of Buddhism? Wasn’t Buddhism pacifistic?

The samurai might reply that it was the practical aspectsof Zen that interested him. He might also argue that he hadno desire to harm anyone. A warrior simply does his duty.He defends his lord and land. An enemy appears; and the

that made it at once sharp and unbreakable. The blacksmith wasalso a kind of priest. Donning a white robe, he chanted prayersover the sword and performed a rite of purification. The result-ing weapon was deemed to have a spirit of its own.

warrior must kill or be killed.And he might relate a tale of Bokuden, a renowned

swordsman of the sixteenth century.

l

Bokuden was taking a ferryboat across Lake Biwa.Among the passengers was another samurai—a rough-look-ing fellow. As they crossed the lake, this samurai boasted ofhis swordsmanship and of the countless opponents he hadslain. He was the greatest swordsman in the land, hedeclared. He would fight anyone. The passengers listenedraptly to his bragging.

All of them save Bokuden, who was nodding off.Annoyed by this indifference, the samurai approached himand jabbed him on the shoulder.

“I see that you too carry a sword,” said the samurai.“What do you have to say for yourself ?”

“My friend,” said Bokuden, “we are of different schoolsof swordsmanship. You seek to defeat others. I seek only notto be defeated.”

“What school is that?” “I am of the Prevail-Without-a-Fight school.”“But you carry a sword.”“Only as a reminder—that a follower of the Buddha

must slay desire.”“Nonsense!” spat the samurai. And he challenged Boku-

den to a fight. Bokuden accepted, but suggested they settletheir quarrel on a nearby island— in order not to injure anyof the passengers. The samurai agreed; and the boatmanheaded the ferry in that direction.

No sooner had they reached the island than the samurai—eager to fight—leapt onto shore and drew his sword. Heflailed it about and bellowed a battle cry.

“Relax,” said Bokuden. And grabbing an oar from theboatman, he pushed the boat away from the island.

“What are you doing?” said the samurai. “Come backhere!”

“This is my Prevail-Without-a-Fight school.”The samurai shook his fist at the departing boat and

called Bokuden a coward. But Bokuden—relieved not tohave had to slay him—just waved back.

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The Buddha CrystalA government official named Kamatari had a daughter

whose beauty was renowned. One day a delegation arrivedfrom across the sea, with word that the Emperor of Chinawished to marry the daughter. As a wedding gift, she wouldbe allowed to choose any three royal treasures and sendthem back to Japan.

The daughter agreed to the marriage, sailed to China,and was wed to the Emperor. Not forgetting the promisedgift, the Emperor led his bride to a treasure room and bidher choose. She wandered through a trove of wondrousobjects. Finally she selected a lute that played itself; a bot-tle with an endless supply of ink; and the Buddha Crystal.The Buddha Crystal was a translucent stone, inside ofwhich was an image of the Buddha. Anyone viewing thisimage experienced an overwhelming sense of peace.

A ship was dispatched to Japan, bearing the three trea-sures. But as it entered the Bay of Shido-no-ura, a violentstorm arose. Waves crashed over the ship; and the BuddhaCrystal was washed overboard.

On hearing the news, Kamatari understood what hadreally happened. The Dragon King of the Sea, coveting thefabulous stone for himself, had caused the storm. Kamatarioffered a reward to whoever might retrieve it.

Avid for the reward, the fishermen of the Bay of Shido-no-ura began a search. One after another they descendedinto the sea. But none of them was able to locate the Bud-dha Crystal.

Then a shell-gatherer—an impoverished woman with aninfant son—came forward. She offered to retrieve the stoneif Kamatari would adopt her son and raise him as a samu-rai. He agreed; and the woman dove into the sea.

Down and down she swam, until arriving at the under-sea palace of the Dragon King. Atop the palace was a bril-liant light—the Buddha Crystal. Guarding it were dozingdragons.

The shell-gatherer swooped down, grabbed the Buddha

Crystal, and swam away. But the dragons awoke and pur-sued her. She was able to elude them, but only after beingdealt a mortal blow from one of their tails.

Crawling onto shore, she handed the Buddha Crystal toKamatari. And with her dying breath she reminded him ofhis promise.

So Kamatari took the infant home and raised him as ason. The boy became a samurai, and eventually succeededto Kamatari’s official position.

In his mother’s memory he built a shrine at the spotwhere she had crawled from the sea. That shrine—knownas the Shidoji—still stands. Pilgrims come to honor theshell-gatherer and her sacrifice.

And the Buddha Crystal? That stone with its image ofpeace? Its whereabouts are unknown.

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Tea Ceremony1

“Tea gives one vigor of body, contentment of mind, anddetermination of purpose,” said the legendary Shen Nung,Fire Emperor of China. His subjects agreed with him; andover the centuries the beverage came into wide use in theMiddle Kingdom—as a medicinal tonic and sociable bev-erage. Poets referred to it as “liquid jade”; and one of thementhused: “When I drink tea, I am conscious of peace. Thecool breath of Heaven rises in my sleeves, and blows mycares away.”

As Buddhism, fine arts, and other achievements of Chi-nese civilization traveled to Japan, tea accompanied them.A major impetus to its use came from Eisai, the monk whointroduced Zen Buddhism to the land. He also broughtfrom China some choice tea plants, which he cultivated athis monastery. The monks drank the tea at their shrine toBodhidharma, as part of a ritual.*

Eisai wrote a treatise on tea, in which he praised it as “thedivine remedy and supreme gift of Heaven for preservinghuman life.” This claim was brought to the attention of theShogun, who had fallen ill. He summoned Eisai and com-manded him to administer his remedy. Fortunately for themonk, the Shogun recovered. And as word spread of itsmedicinal (and stimulative) effect, tea was on its way tobecoming the national beverage of Japan.

2

Among its first devotees were samurai warriors, whoheld lavish tea-tasting parties. Large amounts of sake werealso consumed (prompting such riotous behavior that theparties were eventually banned); and any tonic effect of the

* They also used it to stay awake during their long hours ofmeditation—the penalty for nodding off being a thwack with astick.

tea must have been offset by the toxicity of the alcohol.But the parties did serve to establish tea as a sociable bev-erage.

Around the same time, a special ceremony came intovogue in the castles of warlords. Inspired by the tea ritualof the monks, it involved the sharing of a bowl of tea bythe warlord and important visitors. This formal event—astatus symbol for the powerful—was held in a richlyappointed chamber, with costly utensils. But the Tea Cere-mony came to be modified in an important way. The manwho modified it—and who is considered the patron saintof the Tea Ceremony—was Sen no Rikyu, tea master toHideyoshi.*

Hideyoshi was drawn to the Tea Ceremony for its osten-tatious display of wealth and the intimidating pomp of itsritual; and he gave Rikyu (his close advisor as well as teamaster) a free hand in conducting and perfecting it. An aes-thete of the first order, Rikyu took the Tea Ceremony andremodeled it into something wholly new in spirit.

What Rikyu introduced into the Tea Ceremony waswhat the Japanese call wabi—a concept that is difficult totranslate. Wabi is an aesthetic term, referring to a quality ofrestraint—of plainness—of understatement—in a work ofart. Its earliest associations were with Zen recluses living inthe mountains. Their rustic ways, their rough exteriors (yetnoble souls), the plainness of their dwellings—all this waswabi. Rikyu, who had studied Zen, was taken with its aes-thetic values; and he set out to inject them into the Tea Cer-emony.

His basic idea was that all things luxurious and pre-tentious—the gold utensils, fancy furnishings, elaboratedress—were anathema, and should be replaced with theplain, the natural, the (seemingly) artless. Indeed, Hide-yoshi’s tea chamber itself—a spacious reception hall—had

* Hideyoshi was the fiercest and most successful of the war-lords. This upstart son of a peasant had brought the provinces ofJapan under unified rule, and become the de facto ruler (underthe Emperor) of the new nation. During his rule the Tea Cere-mony became a kind of national sacrament.

to go. So Rikyu began by constructing, on the castlegrounds, a tea hut. With its thatched roof and log walls, thismodest structure resembled a hermit’s shack. It was set in agarden—a simple, rustic affair of shrubs and small trees. Toobjections that his creation was scarcely the sort of place inwhich to receive the grand Hideyoshi, Rikyu quoted anearlier tea master: “‘A prize horse looks best tethered to ahut.’”

The interior of the hut was equally austere. Its una-dorned walls, somber colors, and dearth of furnishings lentRikyu’s tea room a monastic air. For utensils—drinkingbowl, kettle, and other implements of the ceremony—hehad sought out unrefined pieces of folk art. And he beganto conduct, in this lowly venue, a version of the Tea Cere-mony that had an entirely different feel to it.

Amazingly, Hideyoshi appreciated and participated inthe new aesthetic (although he continued to hold lavishTea Ceremonies at well). The warlord who had sought outthe most ornate utensils (usually imported from China),now gathered plain, homespun items—the beauty of whichhis tea master had taught him to discern. Returningfrom an invasion of Korea, he brought back a trove ofrough—yet exquisite—Korean pottery. With it came agroup of captured potters, who would establish the style inJapan.

With Hideyoshi’s support, the renovated Tea Ceremonyflourished. After Rikyu’s death (he had a falling out withHideyoshi that proved fatal), it was preserved and refinedby his disciples. And as it spread from castle to castle, andto private homes (the merchant class was eager to join in),the Tea Ceremony became a hallmark of Japanese culture—which it has remained to the present day.

The irony, of course, is that a ritual with airs of povertyhas been practiced mainly by the well-to-do. The meansto maintain a hut and garden; the leisure to sip tea allafternoon; and the good taste to be drawn to such a cere-mony—these are not the advantages of the poor. Butamong the tastemakers of Japan, the wabi-infused TeaCeremony became a cherished custom. And it came toexert thereby an enormous influence on Japanese art and

culture.How is it that the sipping of tea, amid circumstances of

artificial poverty, could have had such an influence? Whatis the Tea Ceremony all about? And why has it endured, vir-tually unchanged over the centuries?

To find out, let us attend a typical session.

3

At the appointed hour, the guests (a maximum of four*)begin to arrive at the home of their host. They are neatlyand soberly attired (no Hawaiian shirts), in kimonos orcontemporary dress. In a reception room they sample thewater that will be used, and don special sandals. Then theyare led outside to the garden.

There they are seated on a bench and left alone for a while.They savor the fragrances, listen to the hum of insects, enterinto a contemplative frame of mind. When everyone hasarrived and is ready, one of the guests rings a gong.

The host appears and leads them along a winding path.Surrounding them is a rustic simplicity. A backyard enclaveof pine trees, moss-covered stones, bushes, and ferns has

* One tea master has insisted that the ideal number of guests iszero—the ceremony attaining aesthetic perfection when cele-brated solely by the host.

been artfully contrived for a natural effect. Everything istranquil and harmonious. Already the guests have leftbehind their ordinary thoughts, in this sanctuary from thehurly-burly of the world.

On reaching the hut, the guests remove their sandals. (Inolden times, samurai would also remove their swords andleave them in a rack.) Then, one by one—in order of age,refinement, or relationship to the host—they enter the hut.This is effected via an unusual doorway. Only a few feethigh, it resembles a low window. Each guest must crouchand crawl inside.*

The guests find themselves in a room that is nearlyempty. Its walls are bare plaster; its ceiling is unfinishedwood. Straw mats (tatami) cover the floor. A subdued lightfilters in through paper windows. Everything is immacu-lately clean. (As part of his artistry, the host himself hasswept and dusted.)

But the tea room is not entirely devoid of furnish-

* Even Hideyoshi had to crawl through such a doorway. Indesigning it, Rikyu is thought to have been inspired by the“mouse wicket” entranceways of the theaters of his time. He mayhave wished to provide the same sense of passing into anotherworld—into a magical realm. (The original ideograph for tea

hut signified “Abode of Fancy.”) He may also have intended toinstill in each guest—including the grand Hideyoshi—a feelingof humility.

ings. For in the tokonoma (“alcove of honor”), two itemshave been placed. One is a scroll bearing a delicate inkpainting. The other is a vase, in which a sprig of leavesand buds (cut by the host at dawn) has been carefullyarranged.*

The guests approach the tokonoma and acknowledge itwith a bow. Then they seat themselves around a brazier inthe center of the room. In silence they let the chasteness ofthe decor—the lack of furnishings and ornamentation—

* The tokonoma derives from the altar to Bodhidharma, atwhich the monks drank tea. The simplicity of its contents wasestablished by Rikyu, and is a prime example of wabi. A tale istold of Rikyu and the tokonoma.

It seems that Rikyu had been cultivating morning glories, hav-ing acquired seeds of this exotic flower from the Dutch. Word ofthe beauty of the morning glory reached Hideyoshi; and he noti-fied his tea master that he wished to take tea with him, and viewthe blossoms in their fullest splendor.

The next morning Hideyoshi arrived in the tea garden. Hewent to the spot where the morning glories had been planted—

give rise to a certain mood.*The host now enters and joins them at the brazier. He

lights the fire, using charcoal that has been cut into pre-scribed lengths and shapes. From an engraved case he takeschips of incense and adds them to the fire. He hands thecase to the principal guest, who has asked to see it. Theprincipal guest praises its design and inquires as to its his-tory. The case is passed from guest to guest.

A light meal is served. Then it is time for tea. The hostbrings out his utensils, which include pot, drinking bowl,and caddy of powdered tea. The guests compliment him on

his taste in selecting these. The bowl receives particularattention. Irregular in shape (another hallmark of wabi) and

and found that they had been cut and removed. Not oneremained! Furious, he strode to the hut to demand an explana-tion of Rikyu.

As he entered, the warlord was greeted by anexquisite sight. In the tokonoma was a singlemorning glory, its petals still moist with dew.Rikyu had disposed of all the blossoms save one—that Hideyoshi might savor it in the properspirit of restraint.

* Compare this austerity of decor with theoverstuffed Victorian look that has prevailed inthe West. To the Japanese eye, a typical Westerninterior—crammed like a treasure house withart, furniture, and bric-a-brac—seems an exer-cise in vulgar display.

unglazed, it has an almost primitive look. As the guests passit about, they ooh and ah. They praise its patina of age—aweathered look that bespeaks years of service. They inquireas to its past owners. Is it a valuable antique—the bowl ofsome renowned tea master? Has it acquired a name (basedon its appearance, or on the craftsman who made it)? Thehost smiles and modestly relates its history—including thecircumstances of any faults it has acquired. For chips,cracks, and repairs are seen as enhancing the time-wornlook of a utensil.*

When his utensils have been inspected and admired, thehost brews the tea. Quality water and costly tea unite; andthat “liquid jade” is born. Everyone bows in unison to OCha, or Honorable Tea. Apologizing for its poor quality, thehost—with a practiced gesture—pours tea into the bowl.

The principal guest takes three sips, then passes the bowlon. The next guest wipes the rim with a napkin, turns thebowl clockwise, and sips. As the bowl travels from guest toguest, they comment (in a restrained, non-effusive man-ner) on the high quality of the tea, and praise again the

* Oribe, the chief disciple of Rikyu, would purposely breakbowls, then mend them. Theidea was to further this desiredquality, known as sabi.

Sabi refers to the beauty thatarises when something has beenmellowed with age. The dignityand character acquired by anobject as it becomes time-wornis something the Japanese keen-ly appreciate. An ancient bowl,cracked but serviceable; a frayedscroll; the moss-covered stonesof a dilapidated temple—theseare prized for their humility, naturalness, and air of melancholy.New objects, on the other hand, are often disdained for theircrass assertiveness. The Japanese are appalled by our predilectionin the West to restore an antique to its original, pristine condi-tion. To their discerning eye, its patina of age—which we labordiligently to remove—is an antique’s most distinguishing andvaluable quality.

bowl. When everyone has sipped, the group bows in grati-tude.

After a second bowl and a serving of sweets, the guestsloosen up. They begin to converse, in a relaxed, sponta-neous manner. Certain topics—such as contemporaryaffairs, or anything controversial or scandalous—are avoid-ed. Rather, they touch upon the signs of the season; theartistry of the scroll in the tokonoma; the skill of the flowerarrangement. Someone recites a poem. Philosophical andartistic questions are discussed.

Then everyone sits in silence, savoring this unique occa-sion. They listen to the hum of the kettle…the chirp of acricket…the brushing of a branch against the roof.

Finally the guests take their leave. After final compli-ments to the host and an exchange of bows, they filethrough the garden and are gone.

Now the host sits and takes tea alone, beside his bubblingkettle. He gives himself over to the mood of the tea room;to the harmoniousness of his surroundings; to a sense ofoneness with the world. Eyes half-closed, he murmurs plea-surably.

As the last rays of sun illumine the tokonoma, he gazesup at the flower in the vase. How lovely it is, he thinks—and how transitory. It started the day as a bud; bloomed atmidday; and has begun now to droop and wither. A poign-ant symbol of our own mortality.

He sips tea. A breeze rustles the roof.

4

What is the point of all this? What has so attracted gen-erations of Japanese to the Tea Ceremony? And what hasbeen its influence on their civilization?

A clue to the significance of the Tea Ceremony may liein its monastic origins. For much that is associated withZen monasteries is characteristic of the tea hut as well.Beneath its thatched roof is to be found the same air ofasceticism and tranquility. And like a monk, the tea-sipperseeks to escape the turmoil of the world; to embrace sim-plicity; to enter into a meditative frame of mind. Only theiraims differ: an aesthetic experience for the one; enlighten-ment for the other. And while the Tea Ceremony is notexplicitly religious, it is grounded in Zen. It is a spiritualpath—one that adores the beauty to be found in ordinarythings and acts.

Such a path would seem to have a multiple attraction tothe Japanese. For one thing, it speaks to a yearning in thenational soul for wabi—for the aesthetic pleasure of plain-ness. It satisfies, too, a craving for discipline in daily activ-ities. And it appeals to a love of ceremony. All this convergesin a social occasion—a communing with friends amidagreeable surroundings. No wonder the Tea Ceremony hasendured.

But for a definitive analysis, no less an authority thanRikyu himself is available. In the pages of the Nanbo-roku*he discusses the Tea Ceremony—“an ascetic disciplinebased on Buddhist Law and aimed at spiritual deliverance”—at length. But the real lowdown comes in this brief verse,delivered in the best Zen, head-bopping tradition:

You ask me what transpires in this room?It’s simple, sir: boil, brew, consume.

That simple act—highly ritualized and perfected—was

* The Nanbo-roku is a collection of Rikyu’s sayings, preservedby his followers. It is an example of the Japanese institution ofhiden: a manuscript containing the secrets of an art, which ishand-copied and passed down from master to master.

Rikyu’s gift to his countrymen. Yet his legacy does not stopthere.

For it is a startling fact that most subsequent Japanese artharkens back to Rikyu and his infusion of wabi into the TeaCeremony. The plainness of his hut—its chaste, impover-ished air—became the basis for Japanese architecture. Hisgarden became the prototype of the Japanese garden. Themeal he served before tea—austere yet exquisite—becamethe norm of Japanese cuisine. The sober hues to which hewas partial became standard in dress and decor. His sprig inthe tokonoma inspired the art of flower arrangement. Histaste in scrolls significantly influenced painting; his taste inutensils, ceramics. The list goes on.

In short, the aesthetic values of Sen no Rikyu—embod-ied in the Tea Ceremony—became those of the nation. It isa remarkable achievement. In linking tea with a Zen-inspired sense of beauty, he endowed his countrymen witha ritualized expression of their deepest sensibilities. Indeed,so central did tea-drinking become to the culture that aJapanese insensitive to the finer elements of life is said tohave no tea in him.

What are we in the West to make of this? Certainly, wecan attend—and take pleasure in—a Tea Ceremony. Butcan we arrive at any understanding of the soul of its practi-tioners? Of their sensibilities? Of their Zen-influencedworldview? Can we ever come to have any tea in us?

The story is told of a university professor who came tovisit Nan-in, a noted tea master of the Meiji era. The pro-fessor—a westernized individual—was frustrated by hisinability to understand Zen, and asked Nan-in to explainit to him.

Nan-in declined to speak on the subject. Instead he ledthe professor into his tea room, sat him at a table, andbrewed tea.

When it was ready, Nan-in bowed to the steaming pot.Then he poured tea into the professor’s cup. He kept onpouring. The cup filled and overflowed onto the table.

The professor stared in dismay at the growing puddle. Atfirst—out of a deeply-ingrained politeness—he said noth-ing. But finally he cried out: “Stop, my cup is overfull! It

will hold no more!”“Just so,” said Nan-in. “And you too are overfull—of

your own thoughts, opinions, and preconceptions. Howcan I teach you about Zen until you have first emptied yourcup?”

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Battle of Dan-no-uraOn a fateful day in the spring of 1185, the navies of two

clans clashed in the Straits of Shimonoseki. At stake wasdominance of the nation.

For five years the Taira and the Minamoto had been atwar. Each sought supreme power, and supported a rivalclaimant to the throne. As the situation had deteriorated forthe Taira, they had retreated to strongholds in the west.With them were Antoku, the child-Emperor, and Lady Nii,his grandmother.

Finally the clans met for a decisive battle. A thousand ormore ships faced off near the fishing village of Dan-no-ura,and began to fight.

The current in the Straits of Shimonoseki is swift, andchanges direction with the tide. Initially it ran in the Taira’sfavor; and their fleet was prevailing. But then the currentchanged (as the Minamoto had anticipated); and countlessTaira ships were forced onto rocks or swept away. To makematters worse, many of their steersmen were lost. (Mina-moto archers had been ordered to concentrate on steers-men.) Cries and crashes filled the air as the battle raged.

Antoku and Lady Nii were on a ship anchored off Dan-no-ura. Its captain had gone over to the enemy; and the shipwas burning. When it became clear that the situation washopeless, Lady Nii took the seven-year-old Emperor intoher arms. “The world is a vale of tears,” she said, “and weshall leave it. At the bottom of the sea is a Land of Bliss. Letus seek it out.”

She had him pray to Amaterasu and to the Buddha.Thenshe leapt from the ship, drowning herself and Antoku.

Thousands of Taira—warriors, noble ladies, children—perished that day. Many not slain in battle took their ownlives, to avoid the shame of execution. Taira ships burnedlike funeral pyres, blackening the sky.

The clan had come to a grim end.For years thereafter, debris from the battle washed ashore

at Dan-no-ura. But more than debris remained. For it was

said that the ghosts of the Taira haunted the site. Villagersinsisted that the sounds of battle could still be heard, andthat strange lights flickered over the waves. Occasionally, aghost would pull a swimmer beneath the waves and drownhim.

To pacify the ghosts, a temple and cemetery were built.The cemetery overlooked the scene of the battle, and wasfilled with monuments to the Taira.

And the ghosts were allayed. Yet they never completelywent away, say the villagers…who will tell you the tale ofHoichi.

l

Hoichi was a blind bard who resided at the temple. Hewas famed as a chanter of tales and virtuoso of the biwa (atype of lute). His speciality was tales of the war between theTaira and the Minamoto.

As he sat on the temple porch one night, strumming onhis biwa and drifting into a reverie, Hoichi heard theapproach of footsteps.

“Hoichi.”“Yes? Who’s there?”“My master has come to Dan-no-ura to view the site of

the battle. He and his entourage are staying at a noble housein the vicinity. Hearing of your talent, he desires that youappear before us and sing of that sad day. Come with me.”

Welcoming the chance to perform for a noble audience,Hoichi was pleased to comply. He let the stranger lead himfrom the porch and along the road. The man was a samu-rai: Hoichi could hear the jingle of his armor.

Passing through a guarded gate, they negotiated a seriesof corridors and entered what Hoichi deemed to be acrowded hall. He could hear the rustle of silken apparel,and a murmur of expectation. His guide seated him on adais and bade him sing.

Voice quivering with feeling, Hoichi began to sing. Instirring detail he told of the Battle of Dan-no-ura. From hisbiwa arose poignant strains, and the sounds of battle: theshout of warriors, clash of swords, zing of arrows, wail ofwomen, surge of waves.

Hoichi recreated the battle; and his audience respondedemotionally. As he described the ships crashing onto rocks,they moaned. As he told of Lady Nii’s leap into the sea, theywept. And as he sang of the annihilation of the Taira, theywailed.

When Hoichi had finished, his guide thanked him,praised his skill, and led him back to the temple.

“We would like you to sing for us again,” said the samu-rai, “tomorrow night and for several nights thereafter. Buttell no one of these performances. My master, you see, istraveling incognito.”

So the following night Hoichi was led back to the hall,where he performed once more. But his absence from thetemple was noted by a priest, who asked him upon hisreturn where he had been. “Out for a walk,” said Hoichi.

But the priest was suspicious. And the next night, find-ing Hoichi gone again, he went in search of him.

Passing the cemetery, the priest heard the sounds of abiwa. With trepidation he entered the grounds and creptamong the monuments.

He came upon Hoichi sitting in front of the monumentof Antoku. The bard was playing his biwa and singing ofthe Battle of Dan-no-ura. Throughout the cemetery couldbe seen flickering lights. They seemed to hover over themonuments.

“Stop!” cried the priest. “You have been enchanted!”But Hoichi sang on, as if in a trance.The priest grabbed him. “Stop, I say!”“Leave me alone,” said Hoichi. “Can’t you see I am play-

ing for these lords and ladies?”The priest dragged him to his feet and took him back to

the temple. When Hoichi returned to his senses, the priestdescribed to him what had happened.

And they realized that he had been performing for theghosts of the Taira. The clan that had perished in the Bat-tle of Dan-no-ura had assembled to hear the tale of itsdemise.

l

Today tourists come to Dan-no-ura. They visit the tem-

ple and cemetery, where they are told about Hoichi—andof the strange lights still seen upon the waters.

And they are taken to the beach and shown a localspecies of crab. On the shell of the crab are markings like aface. These crabs, it is said, are reincarnations of the Taira.

Of those unhappy souls bound forever to the scene oftheir destruction.

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BashoCastle

Matsuo Kinsaku—the future Basho—was born in 1644in Ueno, the capital of Iga Province. His father was a samu-rai who, in an era of peace, had taken to farming. Loomingover the town was Ueno Castle, from which Lord Todogoverned the province. It was to this castle that Matsuo wassent, at the age of nine, to serve as a page. He was assignedto a son of Todo, eleven-year-old Yoshitada.

Matsuo became Yoshitada’s companion and study-mate;and the two were soon fast friends. Together they learnedtheir ideographs—roamed the corridors of the castle—sported in the surrounding hills. Entering adolescence, theboys found themselves drawn more to literary than to mar-tial arts; and a poet named Kigin was brought in fromKyoto to tutor them.

They took to poetry with a passion, dashing off haikuafter haiku and even adopting pen-names (Sobo and Sen-gin). Kigin was pleased with their efforts, and secured pub-lication—in an anthology issued in Kyoto—of several oftheir haiku.*

So Matsuo and Yoshitada grew into manhood together.Even after Yoshitada married, they remained close friendsand continued to trade poems. For both the future seemedbright. Yoshitada was to succeed his father as governor ofthe province; and Matsuo could look forward to a highposition under him.

Yet each spring, as the cherry blossoms made their briefappearance in the courtyard, the friends may have musedthat human life and its blessings were no less ephemeral.

Indeed they could be brief. In his 25th year Yoshitadadied suddenly of an illness; and Matsuo was plunged into

* A haiku is a formal poem of seventeen syllables. Until Bashoinfused it with a new spirit, the form was little more than a vehi-cle for wordplay and wit.

grief.More adversity was to follow. As a retainer, Matsuo was

reassigned to Yoshitada’s brother. He found the relationshipuncongenial, and asked to be released from fealty to thefamily. His request was denied. In desperation he resignedhis position and ran off to Kyoto—in effect, renouncing hisstatus as a samurai.

A new life was about to begin for the unhappy youngman, in the imperial capital.

Kyoto

For several decades Japan had been governed from Edo(present-day Tokyo), where the Shogun—the militaryruler—had established his headquarters. But the Emperorand court remained in Kyoto; and their patronage hadgiven rise to a concentration of artists and scholars. Theresult was a lively and stimulating milieu—a culturalscene.

Seeking to assuage his grief, Matsuo gravitated to thisscene. He looked up Kigin—who was living in a temple inKyoto—and became his student again. Under Kigin, Mat-suo studied the literary classics of Japan. He also sought outinstruction in calligraphy and Chinese literature.

And he wrote poetry, gaining a measure of recognition.His haiku of this period are elegant and witty. They are alsopedantic. Showing off his learning, he loaded them withallusions to the classics, court poetry, and Noh drama.

In 1672 he published his first book, The Seashell Game.It is a compilation of haiku by other poets, with a wittycommentary by Matsuo. His own work, meanwhile, wasappearing regularly in anthologies (under the name Sobo).Yet he probably had no intention of becoming a full-timepoet. It was simply an absorbing pastime—one that couldbe either intellectual and solitary, or, in the case of renku,high-spirited and sociable.*

* Renku, or linked verse, is a literary form unique to Japan—aparlor game for poets. Here’s how it works:

A group of poets get together in pleasant surroundings. Theywine and dine themselves. Then they set out to compose a

For five years Matsuo resided in Kyoto (returning nowand again to Ueno). Little is known of the details of his lifeduring this period; but his artistic and scholarly pursuitswould seem to have been coupled with a bohemian exis-tence. A woman named Jutei is believed to have been hismistress for a time.

Then Kigin—having found employment with the Sho-gun—moved to Edo; and Matsuo decided to follow himthere. On the eve of his departure he knelt at his table andwrote a haiku:

Kumo to hedatsuTomo ka ya kari noIkiwakare

Or, loosely rendered:

Like wild geese that vanish in the skyI leave forever. My treasured friends, goodbye!*

lengthy poem.The leader begins by writing a haiku. He hands it to the poet

beside him, who adds two lines—creating a stanza.This stanza is given to the next poet, who copies only those two

added lines. Using them as his opening lines, and taking off insome new direction, he composes the second stanza. And thegame continues. Each poet contributes a stanza—its openinglines always the closing lines of the previous stanza.

This goes on until 36 (or more) stanzas have been completed.Each is independent—a kind of mini-poem—yet linked to theothers. Limited only by the participants’ imagination, the renkukeeps shifting its scene, subject, and mood—taking the mostunexpected twists. It can move abruptly from mountain to city,from the sublime to the ridiculous. Anything goes—though cer-tain rules must be observed. For example, at designated points areference must be made to the moon or to cherry blossoms.

The stanzas are read aloud as they are written—to sighs ofappreciation, laughter, and calls for more wine.

* In translating haiku, I will follow the lead of Lafcadio Hearn,who declared: “Although some of my renderings are far from lit-eral as to language, I believe that they express with tolerablefaithfulness the thought and feelings of the originals.”

Edo

Edo was a bustling, growing city—the seat of govern-ment and a commercial center. Matsuo was nearly 30 whenhe arrived, with little money and no prospects. He sup-ported himself at first by taking odd jobs, including a stintas a scribe. Eventually, he found part-time employmentwith the Municipal Waterworks—a position he would holdonto for four years.

In his free time he devoted himself to poetry. Rival cir-cles of poets had sprung up in Edo; and Matsuo joined onethat advocated a wider choice of subject matter—anembrace of everyday life. Still using the name Sobo, he par-ticipated in renku sessions; judged haiku contests; andappeared frequently in anthologies. It was not long beforehe had acquired a solid reputation.

During his third year in the city, he was able to capital-ize on that reputation—by opening a writing school. Thecomposition of haiku and renku had become a popular pas-time for the middle class; and his pupils were prosperousmerchants and their children. Matsuo taught the basics ofcomposition, and did correcting for a fee. According toreports, he was an inspiring teacher as well as a warm andlikeable individual.

Artistically, this was a transitional period for Matsuo. Hewas both absorbing the latest trends in poetry, and begin-ning to develop a style of his own. Puns, witticisms, andclassical allusions still appeared in his poems (though theallusions tended now to be mocking). But increasingly hewas writing about everyday things, and using colloquiallanguage in a vigorous way. A down-to-earth humor hadfound its way into his work. Take, for example, this haiku(written while moon-viewing from a boat):

Bobbing on the waves, sipping wineAnd gazing—tipsy—at the moon divine.

Some of his poems were altogether humorous. After con-suming a bowl of fugu soup (fugu, or puffer fish, is poison-ous if not prepared properly), he wrote:

Fugu soup a day ago I drank—Yet still alive! My lucky star to thank!

On the other hand, serious overtones had begun toappear. Consider the following poem:

Mr. Spider, you don’t sing much, hey?The autumn wind, in whose sigh you sway.

The spider, waiting in its web, is jokingly compared to amusical cricket. Yet a melancholy note is struck with thereference to autumn wind.

Matsuo was a successful poet by now—a luminary onthe literary scene. He had acquired a coterie of followers, asevidenced by the publication in 1680 of Best Poems of Tosei’sTwenty Disciples. (Tosei, or Green Peach, was the new pen-name he had adopted.) Indeed, so devoted to their masterwere these students that one of them—a fish wholesalernamed Sampu—magnanimously bought him a house.

Hut

Actually it was only a hut, in the swampy, undevelopedFukagawa district. Overlooking the Sumida River, this for-mer watchman’s lodge was just the place for a poet. Itsthatched roof was picturesque; its surroundings were rustic.Matsuo (who had been living in rented rooms downtown)brought over his few possessions and moved in.

The hut came with a yard, overgrown with reeds. Stu-dents stopped by to tidy up the yard. And one of thembrought a sapling and planted it by the door. It was a basho,or banana tree.

The plant thrived; and Matsuo soon had an exotic treeto sit under. In so temperate a climate it would not bearfruit. But the large leaves provided shade; and there was anaesthetic attraction:

A banana tree need not fear the ax, for it is useless as con-struction wood. But its uselessness is precisely what I loveabout my banana tree.…Lounging under it, I savor thewind and rain beating on its leaves.

So distinctive was this tree that neighbors began referringto Matsuo’s abode as the Basho-an, or Banana Hut. Andthey were soon attaching a moniker to the poet himself:Master Basho. He liked the sound of that, and decided toadopt it as his pen-name.

So he dropped Tosei and began to sign his poems andletters Basho. Friends and students started calling him that.

Thus it was that Japan’s greatest poet became known asBasho, or Banana.*

Since moving to the hut, Master Basho had closed hispoetry school and ceased to give formal lessons or to correctfor a fee. But he was still a teacher, with students wholooked to him for guidance. They would hike out to theFukagawa district and drop in on him. Tea would besipped, poetry discussed. Basho welcomed the company;for though enjoying the isolation of his new home, he wasno recluse. From time to time he even gave parties: congen-ial affairs at which poetry was written and sake imbibed. Orhe would walk into town, to visit Kigin or some otherfriend.

Yet the hut was essentially a retreat—a secluded locationfor writing, reading, and pondering. Part of its attraction forBasho was its resemblance to a mountain hermitage, thetraditional dwelling place of poets and sages. Humble andout-of-the-way, the Banana Hut was a cozy hideaway. Eventhe leaking roof was part of its charm:

In my banana tree, the wind’s refrainAnd in a bucket, the pattering of rain.

His stay in the hut was a milestone for Basho. On the onehand, he had distanced himself from the literary scene inEdo. On the other, he found his stride, making the transi-tion to a mature and individual style. A poem published in1680 has been seen as inaugurating that style:

Perched upon the withered branch, a crow.Autumn evening. In the west, a glow.

* Whimsical pseudonyms are not unknown among writers—Mark Twain, Shalom Aleichem, Boz.

The poem is startling in its simplicity. Wholly descrip-tive, it offers no commentary, wordplay, or wit. It capturesa moment in nature—and that is all. No meaning is intend-ed. Yet how suggestive an image—how fraught with over-tones—how rich in wabi and sabi!

Henceforth, Basho would leave behind his old concernsand techniques. His haiku would focus on daily life, hisown feelings, and the small miracles of nature. And theywould have a consistent goal: to uncover beauty.

He had reinvented the haiku. What had been a vehiclefor wit and pedantry was endowed with a seriousness ofpurpose. The form would appeal to the most profound sen-sibilities, and become a mainstay of literary expression.

Meanwhile, life went on for Basho:

I live alone in a dilapidated hut by the river. I sit and admirethe view of distant Fuji and of passing boats. In the morn-ing I watch boats sail out of the harbor. At night I sit in themoonlight, listening to the wind in the reeds and lament-ing the emptiness of my cask. Even in bed I lament—thethinness of my blankets!

Fire

Basho was successful now. He had literary fame, follow-

ers, and a livelihood of sorts. (Students would leave rice ina gourd by the door and sake in a cask.) It was a life of gen-teel poverty that suited his temperament.

Yet a dissatisfaction was gnawing at him. He had movedto the Fukagawa district to escape the literary scene, withits vanities, and to simplify his life. But nameless ills hadpursued him even here. And he began to experience anuneasiness—a melancholy—a malaise.

The wind is brisk, the hour late.Dead leaves swirl against my flimsy gate.

A winter night. The sound of an oarMakes me weep. Chills me to the core.

In an attempt to overcome these feelings, he hadimmersed himself in his work. But something more wasneeded.

Staying nearby was a priest named Buccho. (The head ofa Zen temple in Hitachi province, he had come to Edo tosettle a lawsuit.) Basho became acquainted with him, andbegan to study Zen under his guidance. The poet meditat-ed, grappled with koans. He took to wearing a monk’s robe.He pondered the transitory nature of existence—the emp-tiness of ambition—the possibility of enlightenment.

As if to impress these teachings upon him, in the winterof 1682 a major fire struck Edo; and the Banana Hut wasamong the dwellings destroyed. It was a harrowing experi-ence for Basho. Under a sky black with smoke, he had takenrefuge in the river, submerging his body and covering hishead with a mat.

Leaving the stricken city for several months, Bashoresided in Kai province with one of Buccho’s disciples. Soonafter his return to Edo, he received word that his motherhad died.

Those withered leaves were swirling.His students took up a collection for Basho. They found

him a new abode in Fukagawa, furnished it, planted abanana tree in the yard. Upon moving into this resurrectedBanana Hut, he knelt at his desk and wrote:

The same old oak am I—useless, aloof.Hail pounding on a brand-new roof.

For a while life went on as before. He published ananthology called Shriveled Chestnuts. It was acclaimed; andhis fame grew.

But that dissatisfaction did not go away. So Basho didwhat any Japanese—spiritually restless—might have done.He embarked upon a pilgrimage.

On the Road

His destination was Ise, with its shrine to Amaterasu. Butafter paying his respects to the goddess, Basho intended tokeep traveling. He wanted to sightsee; to visit friends andfamily; and to write poetry along the way. His inspirationin this was Saigyo, a twelfth-century poet who had wan-dered about Japan, and the itinerant sages of China.

In the black robe of a monk and the straw sandals of atraveler, Basho set out upon the highway. In Records of aWeather-beaten Skeleton (the travel sketch he would writeupon his return), he describes the moment of departure:

Like that priest of ancient China who traveled endlesslywithout worrying about his next meal and who reached astate of ecstasy in the moonlight, I left my lowly abode onthe Sumida River in the eighth month of the first year ofJyokyo [1684], just as the autumn winds were starting toblow.

Basho was accompanied by one of his students, whoserved as both companion and servant. They journeyed onfoot (though occasionally renting a horse or taking a boat).Travel was a daunting affair, even in this era of peace. Theroads were primitive, the terrain rugged. And there wouldbe storms, disease, and highwaymen to be reckoned with.Almost immediately, for example, they were detained—forseveral days—by the rain-swollen Oi River. But Basho wasdetermined to press on. Should he perish and become a pileof bones beside the road (that weather-beaten skeleton), sobe it!

After several weeks they reached Ise. On account of hisBuddhist garb, Basho was refused admission to the shrineitself. But he was content simply to linger on the grounds,and to pray amidst the ancient cedars. He was drawn to atree known as the Cedar of Five Hundred Branches:

A moonless night. A celebrated treeEmbracèd by the wailing wind…and me.

His next stop was Ueno, where he visited relatives andpaid homage at his mother’s grave. It had been eight yearssince his last visit.

Then it was on to Mt. Yoshino, to view the cherry blos-soms there and to inspect a hut in which Saigyo had lived.Coming upon a spring where Saigyo had washed, Bashotoo washed there. He describes how the temple bells, ring-ing throughout the mountains, “moved me at the core ofmy being.”

And he journeyed on. Staff in hand and faithful student athis side, Basho trekked through central Japan. His accom-modations included inns, temples, and the homes of fellowpoets. Wherever he stayed, Basho spent the evening writ-ing or reworking poems.

A simple violet by the mountain roadHas conjured me. With love I overload!

Spring is here! And a morning thrill:Haze hovering on that nameless hill.

My horse is pondering a roadside flowerAn exquisite mallow—which he proceeds

to devour.

By the end of April Basho was back home. And he real-ized that the goal of his journey had been, not Ise, but hisown inner self. For he had found his mission: to be a wan-dering poet. To roam the land, as Saigyo had done, insearch of beauty. Therein seemed to lie the answer to hisdoubts and dissatisfaction.

Lounging under the banana tree, he discovered a

memento of his travels:

Something by which my roaming to recall:In this summer robe the lice yet crawl.

Idle Days

For a time Basho lived comfortably in his abode. Friendswould drop by for tea and conversation. And he wouldgive parties—jovial gatherings dedicated to moon-view-ing, snow-viewing, blossom-viewing. Though barely 40,Basho referred to himself now as “an idle old man.” But hisbrush was not idle; and he continued to capture poeticalmoments.

High above the heath a skylark singsUnattached to any earthly things.

All day the lark has sung—melodious fop!And still he sings. He just can’t stop.

A friend named Sora lived nearby; and the twoexchanged regular visits. When Sora dropped by one dayafter it had snowed, Basho wrote:

You prepare the fire, tea, and bowlWhilst I a giant snowball go and roll.

It was during this period that Basho composed his best-known poem. He was meditating with friends in his gar-den—when a frog jumped into the pond. Spontaneously,Basho murmured part of a haiku. After a discussion on howto complete it, he came up with the rest.

The stillness of a pond. Then, ker-plop!Into the water a frog decides to hop.

Taken with the notion, he decided to host an evening ofpoetry writing in which the subject would be limited tofrogs. The event was held at the Banana Hut. Ink and sakeflowed as poets vied with one another to come up with frogpoems. The results were published in an anthology called

Frog Contest.Basho was enjoying himself. But the desire to travel was

gnawing at him. And in the fall of 1687 he was on the roadagain.

Kashima

Basho was headed for Kashima, a popular shrine 50miles away. His purpose was twofold: to visit Buccho, hisZen master, who had retired there; and to satisfy an “irre-sistible urge” to view the harvest moon from Kashima—asight said to be incomparable.

He was accompanied by Sora and a priest with a portablealtar on his back. In an account of the trip, Basho notes thathe and the priest are dressed alike. Yet poets are neitherpriest nor layman, he muses, but something in between.They are like bats, which are neither bird nor mouse.

At Kashima they stayed with Buccho in a temple. Alas,the night was rainy; and the moon could not be seen. ButBasho was consoled by the tranquillity of the temple. Andrising before dawn, he was granted a glimpse of the moon.

From my temple mat I groggily riseAnd gaze upon the moon with grateful eyes.

Battered Satchel

Soon after returning from Kashima, he was off again—on a journey that would last nearly a year. As friends gath-ered to bid adieu to him and a companion, Basho com-posed a departure poem:

Marching off, the morning dark and wet.A traveler again. How far will I get?

To which a friend appended the line:

You’ll sleep among flowers. Do not fret.

The usual hardships lay ahead. But Basho was ready forthem. In the satchel on his back he carried (along with the

all-important brush, ink, and paper) a winter coat, medi-cine kit, and lunchbox. Wrapping his raincoat about him,he set off down the road.

Like Saigyo [he recounts in Records of a Battered Satchel ] Itrudged along…savoring the beauties of mountain and sea;stopping at secluded places where sages had dwelt; visitingwith poets. As a wanderer, I had no desire to acquire any-thing; and without possessions, I had no fear of beingrobbed. I ambled along, content to be traveling by foot. Iate the simplest of meals. With no itinerary, I let the windlead me. My only cares were finding a place to stay at night,and replacing my sandals. I kept coming upon things thatwere new and fascinating.

As Basho plodded along highway, back road, and path,almost anything—a waterfall, the ruins of a temple, a peas-ant digging potatoes—might catch his fancy and inspire apoem. Inns were his usual accommodations for the night.But in towns he often stayed with poets, who were honoredto play host to the master of haiku. In Nasoya a group ofpoets invited him to a snow-viewing party.

The snow is deep beneath my stumbling feet.Falling, I ooh and ah—how white this sheet!

From province to province he traveled; and the haikuflowed from his brush.

Mountain spirit, I discern your faceIn the blazing blossoms of this place.

Toward a distant isle the cuckoo flies.Fading in the mist: its forlorn cries.

But the most poignant lines were written in Ueno.Basho visited the castle—presided over now by Yoshitada’sson—and gazed upon the cherry blossoms in the court-yard.

Ah, the very trees I left behind.What memories these blossoms bring to mind.

Toward the end of his journey he was joined by a friendnamed Etsujin. Basho describes this dyer from Nasoya as“someone who labors for three days, then takes three daysoff—a lover of sake who likes nothing better than to getdrunk and sing old ballads.” The pair rented a horse and—“inspired by the autumn moon”—headed for the mountainvillage of Sarashima. They wished to view the harvest moonfrom scenic heights.

Sarashima could be reached only by a perilous road thatwound into the mountains. Neither man was experiencedin this sort of travel; and during the climb, they kept mak-ing blunders. “These made us laugh, however,” says Basho,“and gave us the resolve to press on.”

Above us mountain towered over mountain; while direct-ly to our left, a sheer cliff plunged a thousand feet to araging river. Clinging to the saddle, I froze with fear when-ever the horse gave a lurch.…The road ascended into theclouds. I got off the horse and staggered along, made dizzyby the height. Our servant mounted the horse, and—oblivious to the danger—kept nodding off. I was sure hewas about to slip from the saddle and tumble over thecliff ! Whenever he started to doze, I was terrified for thefellow. But it occurred to me that we are all just like him:wandering the world in a storm, oblivious to unseen dan-gers. Watching us from heaven, the Buddha must be asapprehensive for our fate as I was for that of the servant.

They were rewarded with a magnificent view of themoon.

It was late autumn when Basho arrived back at his hut.His satchel was battered, but filled with poems.

North

…I yearned to be traveling again—northward this time.My soul was in the grip of a god, who urged me to depart.I was beset with thoughts of the open road, until thewalls of my hut became unbearable. As I prepared to roam—replacing the strap on my hat, mending my pants,strengthening my legs with moxa—I dreamt of the moonover the islands of Matsushima.

Thus begins Narrow Road to the Deep North, the accountof his next—and most famous—journey. Basho had decid-ed to ramble through the northern provinces—a ruggedregion that drew few visitors. Before doing so, he sold theBanana Hut. Either he had tired of it, or did not expect toreturn.

He set out in the spring of 1689, accompanied by Sora.His aim was to visit the usual assortment of scenic locales,sacred mountains, shrines, monuments, waterfalls, ruins—following again in the footsteps of Saigyo (for the medievalpoet had been here too). But Basho also wanted to savor thetraditional way of life—the folkways that had survivedintact in this backward area.

And, of course, he planned to return with souvenirs oftheir trek. With haiku.

On the third day they reached the shrine on Mt. Nikko—a site so holy that Basho refuses to describe it. He willsay only that Nikko means “sunshine,” and that the shrineillumines the nation with its benevolent influence. On themountain he prayed and gazed over the countryside.

The new leaves, brilliant in the lightFill me with awe—rapture—downright delight!

Their next stop was the willow under which Saigyo hadrested and written:

A shady willowBy a rillI stop to rest…I’m stopping still.

Basho, too, sat in its shade and came up with a poem:

So long we linger (whom these boughs enchant)The farmers an entire field plant.

Finally they reached the barrier-gate at Shirakawa—amilitary checkpoint that marked the start of the northernregion. The guards eyed these two characters with suspi-cion, but allowed them to pass.

And Basho and Sora began to explore the deep north.They listened to farm girls chant rice-planting songs (a cus-tom that had died out in the rest of Japan)…had tea at atemple that claimed to possess the sword of Yoshitsune (alegendary warrior) and the satchel of Benkei (his sidekick)…bathed in a hot spring…located a hut where Buccho had

stayed…listened to a blind musician sing archaic songs…visited the Tsubo Stone—a thousand-year-old monumentbefore which Basho, sensing the presence of the ancients,wept with joy.

And they viewed the islands of Matsushima—hundredsof islands in a bay—said to be the most breathtaking sightin Japan. In their inn that night, Basho found himself un-able to complete a poem. “My brush sought in vain,” helaments, “to comment upon this divine wonder.” Insteadhe sat with windows open to the vista, reading poems byothers about Matsushima.

More often, though, the haiku flowed from his brush.After visiting a historic battlefield, Basho wrote:

This windswept field of summer grassAll that’s left of valorous deeds, alas!

After traveling by boat down the swollen Mogami River:

The rains are gathered in a single flowAnd in torrents to the ocean go.

After visiting a picturesque lagoon:

Shallows at Shiogoshi, cool and wideCranes hop and ponder in the tide.

After viewing Lord Sanemori’s battle helmet, on displayat a shrine:

Sanemori, dreaded in his day—A cricket in his helmet chirps away.

After gazing out to Sado Island (notorious for its prison):

Toward distant Sado, over a surging seaThe Milky Way flows eternally.

In September Basho reemerged into familiar territory,having traveled more than a thousand miles. On horsebackhe entered the town of Ogaki, where friends lived. Withjubilation they greeted him.

“They were overwhelmed to see me,” he remarks, “as ifI had come back from the dead.”

Fame

Basho was at the height of his fame now—and homeless.For the next two years he drifted about, living in summercottages loaned to him by friends. These rustic retreats—with names such as the Unreal Dwelling, the NamelessHut, the House of Fallen Persimmons—were located nearLake Biwa or outside of Kyoto. In them he worked on Nar-row Road to the Deep North and other projects; “thoughtabout right and wrong, by lamplight at night”; and enter-tained guests. He was particularly fond of the UnrealDwelling, with its panoramic view of lake and mountain.In the vicinity were ancient shrines and temples, whichBasho would visit.

A monk in silence sips upon his teaChrysanthemums his only company.

Then he returned to Edo, where his students built forhim a new hut—even planting five banana trees in theyard. Basho gratefully moved in. But he found himselfunable to write or to ponder. For his fame was such thatadmirers were constantly appearing on his doorstep.

At first Basho seems to have enjoyed this gregarious exis-tence. The literary scene in Edo was thriving; and he wasits star. But he began to yearn for solitude—and for relieffrom responsibilities. For he was contributing now to thesupport of several persons: his former mistress Jutei and her

children, and an ailing nephew.Finally this worldly involvement became too much for

him. So Basho locked his gate and became a recluse. In soli-tude he contemplated his situation.

My gate is bolted, my garden overgrownWith morning glories. I sit alone.

A month later he unlocked the gate and emerged. A solu-tion had come to him, he told friends—a philosophicalstance he called karumi (“lightness”). Essentially, it was adetachment whereby one could be in the world, yet not ofit. A bystander, rather than a participant.

His friends welcomed him back. And Basho settled intothe role of celebrated poet. He was able to smile now uponthe rigors of fame and the bustle of the city.

Is that a cuckoo, caroling from afarOr just a pedlar, whose cries the quiet mar?

Final Journey

But again the road beckoned. And in the summer of1694 Basho set out on what would be his last trek. His des-tination was the southern tip of Japan.

He got as far as Osaka, where he was stricken with dysen-tery. His condition worsened; and it became evident thatBasho was dying. Friends and students gathered at his bed-side.

They requested a jisei—the death poem of a sage, inwhich he sums up his view of the world. At first Bashorefused. Each of his poems for the past decade, he insisted,had been composed as if it were the last.

But that night Basho had a dream; and waking from it,he conceived a haiku. Calling for his attendant, he dictated:

Fallen ill while on a rambling tourIn dreams still roving—on a lonely moor.

Later Basho called a student to his bedside; recitedanother version of the poem; and asked which was bet-

ter. Then he said:

What am I doing, writing haiku while on the threshold ofdeath. But for 50 years poetry has been my life—my obses-sion. Even in sleep I would roam under a cloud-filled skyor in the twilight, and be struck by the sound of a brook ora bird. According to the Buddha, such attachment is sin-ful; and I have been guilty of that sin. I wish I had neverwritten a poem—never written a poem!

Several days later he expired.Hundreds of mourners followed his body in a procession

to Lake Biwa. And in a cemetery overlooking the water,Basho was buried.

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The Bronze BuddhaThe Bronze Buddha of Kamakura is a wonder of the

land. It is famed for both its height (over 40 feet) and itsartistry. Built when Kamakura was the capital, it has sat inmute contemplation for the last seven centuries—except onone occasion.

At the time in question, the statue resided in a temple.(Today it sits in the open air, the temple having beendestroyed by a storm.) Pilgrims came in droves to see whatwas said to be the colossus of the world.

Word of the statue reached the Whale, who was cruis-ing the Inland Sea. At first the great beast refused tobelieve that he might have a rival in size. But disbeliefturned to jealousy, as he was told of the crowds that wereflocking to Kamakura. Furious, he thrashed about in thewater. Could it be? Was the Bronze Buddha truly largerthan he?

The thought was intolerable. So the Whale resolved tofind out just how large the statue was. Donning a pair ofmagical boots, he strode ashore at Kamakura and headedfor the temple. Reaching it at midnight, he knocked on thehigh door.

The priests were all asleep. So the Bronze Buddha calledout: “Yes? Come in.”

“I cannot do that,” said the Whale. “I am too large to fitthrough the doorway. You come out.”

The Bronze Buddha frowned. Who could this be? Anddescending from its pedestal, it walked to the doorway,bent low, and squeezed through.

In the moonlight they regarded one another. The BronzeBuddha was amazed to see so gigantic a creature. And theWhale was dismayed to find that he did indeed have a rivalin size.

Meanwhile, one of the priests had awoke; and passingthrough the hall, he gasped. The Bronze Buddha was gone—its pedestal was empty!

Then he heard voices from outside. Deep, rumbling

voices. Peeking through the doorway, he slapped himselfin disbelief. There was the statue, engaged in conversationwith the Whale. They were debating something.

The Whale noticed the priest and said: “You there! Mea-sure us and determine who is the larger.”

The priest went and got a ladder. And using his rosary,he carefully measured each of them—announcing finallythat the Whale was two inches larger.

“Hah!” cried the Whale. And striding off in triumph, hereturned to the sea. There he has been boasting ever sinceof his supreme size.

The Bronze Buddha, for its part, returned to the pedestaland sat down. “So,” it murmured, “there is a creature larg-er than I.” Thankful for the lesson in humility, it resumedits blissful expression.

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PaperNowhere has paper been more appreciated—more hon-

ored—more utilized—than in Japan.A Chinese invention, paper was introduced along with

Buddhism and writing. The manufacturing process wasrefined; and Japanese paper was soon of a surpassing qual-ity. Its earliest uses were for official documents, sacred texts,and Buddhist charms. And paper flowers were used to dec-orate altars.

The rise of an idle aristocracy led to further uses. Theserefined souls could not have functioned without paper. Ele-gantly textured sheets of it bore their poems, diaries, andlove letters. The paper was sometimes perfumed.

Paper also found its way into Shinto shrines. Strips werefolded into zigzags and offered to the kami. A paper broomwas used for purification. Paper cut-outs adorned theshrine.

But it was in articles of daily life that paper truly cameinto its own. Parasols, fans, lanterns, kites, masks, and gift-wrap were turned out by skilled craftsmen. And paper wallsbecame an integral part of houses.

Why this passion for paper? Why did the Japanese taketo it in such a fashion? Perhaps its fragility appealed to thenational character. A parasol, pounded by rain, is at onceexquisite and ephemeral. The same sensibility that was fondof cherry blossoms was attracted to paper.

That attraction gave rise to a popular pastime. Idle indi-viduals began to fold paper into recognizable shapes. Theyexplored its sculptural possibilities; and thus arose origami,the art of paper-folding. Over the centuries a multiplicityof forms—samurai, butterfly, crane, frog, boat, pagoda, etc.—have been devised.

For more on origami, see “How to Fold a Paper House.”

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Festival of the DeadOpinion has varied in Japan as to the fate of the dead.

The earliest traditions speak of a ghostland beyond themountains, or of an Underworld—a dark realm of pollutedsouls. With Buddhism came belief in heaven and hell. Thevirtuous could look forward to an Abode of Bliss; thewicked, to a place of punishment. Buddhists believed tooin reincarnation. Souls that had failed to achieve perfectionwould be reborn in an appropriate guise (after storage in akind of cosmic warehouse).

As Buddhist sects proliferated, they formed differingconcepts of the afterlife. In one important matter, however,all agreed. Whatever his fate, the deceased retained an inti-mate connection with his family. Indeed, he was still a mem-ber of the household—to be honored, communicated with,and fed!

This belief—that the dead remain in a vital relationshipwith the living—is known as ancestor worship. All societiesseem to have practiced it, at an early phase of their devel-opment. (It was an important element, for instance, inGreek and Roman culture.) But as societies develop, theytend to abandon ancestor worship. Only in China andJapan, among sophisticated civilizations, did it retain a cen-tral place. And only in Japan has it continued to thrive.

The focus of Japanese ancestor worship is a householdaltar known as the butsudan (not to be confused with thekamidana, or god-shelf, also found in most homes). Thebutsudan is a cabinet containing an image of the Buddha;wooden memorial tablets for close relatives who have died;and the Book of the Past—a scroll listing the names ofremote ancestors. A daily prayer is recited at the butsudan;and an offering is made—usually rice and tea. Incense isburned; a candle is lit at night. Hovering about this sacredplace is a sense of the presence of one’s ancestors. Whereverthey have gone, one is in touch with them here. The prayersand offerings serve to honor them, and to make them com-fortable in their new home.

But these rites are also for the benefit of the living. Forthe deceased have become kami, with supernatural powers.If duly venerated, they will intervene in the affairs of thefamily—promoting its prosperity and helping to avert mis-fortune. Thus, one prays to the ancestors and requests theiraid; thanks them; apologizes for misdeeds. One may alsosolicit their advice (attainable via a dream or a medium).

Such ceremonies are a daily event in any traditionalhousehold. And they are augmented and expanded on cer-tain occasions. The most important of these is a three-dayholiday called bon matsuri, or Festival of the Dead. Held inmid August, the Festival of the Dead is one of the highpoints of the Japanese calendar. For during it one’s ancestorsdrop by for a visit.

The Festival of the Dead is essentially a family reunion.As with Christmas in the West, people travel long distancesto be home for the holiday. Cars clog the highways; trainsand buses are packed. But this is a reunion with a differ-ence. For busy too are the celestial byways. The ancestors areon their way.

To welcome them, the house has been meticulouslycleaned. It has been decorated with fruit and flowers.Favorite possessions of the departed—pipe, book, musicalinstrument—have been brought out. By the door has beenplaced a bucket of water: the ancestors will want to washtheir feet upon arrival. On the front of the house has beenhung a paper lantern. It will light the way to the door. (If adeath has occurred during the year, additional lanterns—contributed by friends and neighbors—have been hung.)

As evening falls, the streets come alive with lanterns.Families emerge from their houses and make their way tothe cemetery. There they decorate the graves of their depart-ed—with fruit, rice balls, sakaki branches. They light alantern and place it on the grave; and the cemetery, too, issoon ablaze with lights. It is an invitation for the spirits ofthe dead to rise from their graves, and to join their familiesin celebration. The spirits accept the invitation, and—bythe light of yet another lantern—are escorted back to thehouse.

At the door shoes are removed (by living and dead alike);

and everyone passes inside. The butsudan is opened. Infront of it is assembled a spirit altar, on which are placed thememorial tablets. The spirits of the departed enter the tab-lets, where they will reside for the duration of the festival.Prayers are recited. Incense is lit. Then the spirits are servedsmall portions of their favorite foods—offerings that serveto welcome them home.*

The family (its flesh-and-blood members) sits down nowto a meal whose portions are far from token. A feast! Theoccasion is at once solemn and joyous. For departed parentsand grandparents have returned—have rejoined the familycircle. Spoken to as if physically present, they are broughtup to date: on accomplishments, transitions, problems. Newmembers of the family are introduced to them. As theevening unfolds, feasting and conviviality are the rule. Yetthe formalities are not neglected. A priest may stop by tochant sutras before the altar. (It is not unknown for a medi-um also to visit and communicate directly with the dead.)And additional ceremonies are enacted.

Thus are the departed brought back to the family resi-dence and feted. But on the second day, the focus of theholiday shifts from home to street. It is festival time; and acarnival—with food, games, and entertainment—is soonunderway. The main event comes in the evening: a wilddance called the bon odori. An outdoor stage has been erect-ed and hung with lanterns. On it musicians lay into drums,gongs, and flutes. The din rouses the crowd, who form con-centric circles around the stage and begin to dance. Theystrike poses, gyrate in unison, sing and clap. It is a Japaneseversion of the bunny hop. The ostensible purpose of thebon odori is to entertain the spirits. But it also serves toenliven the living, and to unite them in a communal rap-ture. The dancing may continue until dawn.

On the third night of the festival the ancestors are givena send-off. A final offering—of rice balls to sustain them ontheir return journey—is placed on the altar. Farewell fires

* In many households a second altar is set up—for spirits whohave no family to pray for them and therefore are wanderingabout in a troubled state. The idea is to pacify them.

are lit in the streets. (In Kyoto a huge bonfire in the shapeof a dai—the character for “huge”—is lit on the side of amountain.) And the soul-ships are brought out. These areblocks of wood with a lantern at the prow and incense atthe stern. Each has been inscribed with the name of adeparted. The soul-ships are taken down to the river or har-bor. And as the lanterns are lit, the spirits of the dead enterthe flames.

Then the soul-ships are launched. The waters fill withthem, as families bid adieu to loved ones. ThroughoutJapan millions of these tiny craft drift out to sea, flickeringin the night. Known as the Tide of Departing Spirits, it isa moving sight. The ancestors are returning to the spiritworld. As they float off, their families call out: “Come backnext year.”

Lafcadio Hearn has described the Tide of Departing Spir-its: “Down all the creeks and rivers and canals the phantomfleets go glimmering to the sea; and all the sea sparkles tothe horizon with the lights of the dead, and the sea wind isfragrant with incense.”*

* Sailors are superstitious about the Tide of Departing Spirits.During it they will neither put out to sea nor enter a harbor.Should a ship get caught up in the Tide, the dead are said to rise

And thus concludes the Festival of the Dead. It is a com-munal holiday in which all of Japan—even her past gener-ations—participates. Though uniquely Japanese, it has beencompared with All-hallow Eve (the ancient holiday fromwhich Halloween derives). On that night the dead werebelieved to roam the earth and cause mischief. To placatethem, offerings were made and jack-o’-lanterns lit. Yet howdifferent in character is the Japanese holiday. Its spirits aregrandparents, not anonymous ghosts. They inspire venera-tion, not fear. And they come in the lazy month of August,rather than gloomy November.

Come not to make trouble, but to enjoy themselves at afamily feast!

from the water, hold out their hands, and call for a bucket. Wisesailors comply with this demand. But aware that the offendedspirits intend to sink their ship, they toss them a bucket with nobottom.

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The SacrificeIn a hut on the island of Nao dwelt an old couple, Sobei

and O Yone. The sole inhabitants of the island, they livedon the fish they caught and the vegetables they grew. Andthey lived happily, isolated from the turbulence of thetimes. (This was during the Hogen Rebellion of the twelfthcentury.)

One day they were surprised to hear a knock on theirdoor. Standing there was a young man—seventeen or eigh-teen years old—of noble aspect and royal dress. He intro-duced himself as Shutoku, the de-throned Emperor, andbegged forgiveness for intruding upon them.

Stunned, the couple fell to their knees. Their visitorsmiled and motioned for them to rise. And he related whathad happened to him.

“After replacing me on the throne,” he said, “the newEmperor ordered me banished to a distant place. So a shipbrought me to this island and marooned me on the shore.It was assumed that no one lived here, and that sooner orlater I would perish.

“At first I considered taking my own life and shorteningthe agony. I sat on a large rock, staring out to sea and ruingmy fate. But I decided to live—for as long as Amaterasu sawfit. Then, wandering along the beach, I spotted your hut.And here I am.”

Sobei declared him welcome to anything they had. Theex-Emperor could stay in their hut while they built him ashelter of his own. They would share their food with him,and serve him as best they could.

He thanked them; and after a plain but satisfying meal,the three set to work erecting a shelter on the beach.

The months went by. The young man helped the coupleto fish and to farm; prayed with them to the kami of theisland; conversed with them over a candle at night. Andhe came to love them for their simplicity and devotion. Hecame to love the island, too, with its windy beaches andflock of gulls. During the winter he took sick; and Sobei

and O Yone brought him back to health with herbs theygathered.

Not long after his recovery, he was sitting on that largerock—gazing at the sea and brooding—when he realizedhe was not alone. A dozen men in armor were standing bythe rock, with grim expressions.

“Your Majesty,” said their leader, a tall, gray-haired sam-urai, “I am Furuzuka Iga, and I have come to discharge apainful duty. The new Emperor fears that, though banishedto this distant place, you remain a threat to the stability ofthe nation. He has sent me, therefore, to behead you. Pleaseforgive me, and allow me to perform the terrible deed asquickly as possible.”

Unfazed, the recipient of this death sentence climbed offthe rock, lay on the sand, and told Iga to proceed.

Iga started to weep. “How brave this ill-fated youth!” hesaid. “And how unhappy I, his executioner.”

But he braced himself; whispered a few words; and witha swift chop, did the deed.

“Return to the ship,” he ordered his men. “Sail homewith the body, and show the Emperor that his commandhas been obeyed. My servant and I shall remain here for atime. For I wish to grieve for this noble youth, and pray for

his soul.”When his men had departed, Iga fell to the sand and

wept loudly.Later that day Sobei and O Yone came hobbling along

the beach, looking for Shutoku. At the rock where he waswont to sit they found only Iga, still kneeling and weeping.

“Who are you?” asked Sobei. Then he saw the blood-stains in the sand and cried: “Where is our friend?”

Identifying himself as an imperial envoy, Iga revealedwhat had happened. The couple exploded in fury. Theyattacked Iga with their canes, though aware that their liveswould be forfeit. The samurai was able to subdue them withease. And he said:

“Hear me. The young man whom you befriended andcared for was not Shutoku. He was my son Taro. When thetask of marooning the ex-Emperor fell upon me, I had nochoice but to perform my duty. Yet I could not treat adescendant of Amaterasu—a Prince of Heaven to whom Ihad been pledged—in such a manner. So I asked my son—who bore a resemblance to Shutoku—to don his clothingand pose as him. Taro did so willingly. And I marooned himinstead. Abandoned him to his fate!

“But the new Emperor began to worry that Shutokumight have survived, and would return someday to regainhis throne. So he ordered me to go back to the island andslay him. Dutifully, I obeyed. I slew my own son. Sunderedthe thread of life with this accursed sword. Pummel not, butpity such a father.

“So yes, Taro is gone—your friend and my son. Butknow that Shutoku lives, and will be here shortly. I thankyou for what you did for my son, and for the cause of thebanished Emperor.”

Again he began to weep; and the old couple, left speech-less by his tale, joined him. Patches of tears joined thebloodstains in the sand.

A figure was approaching along the shore.“The ex-Emperor,” said Iga.Shutoku came walking toward them. Though disguised

as a servant, he bore himself with an aristocratic mien. Ashe drew near, his resemblance to Taro became evident.

They bowed to him. Iga presented Sobei and O Yone,explaining what the couple had done for Taro. Shutokuthanked them, then knelt in the sand and prayed for thesoul of Taro. The three joined him; and their prayers min-gled with the roar of the sea.

The next day Iga rowed himself to the mainland. Shu-toku stayed behind. He had decided to remain on the islandfor the rest of his days.

And remain he did, cared for by the old couple. Hewould sit on that rock, playing his lute and staring out tosea. And he would pray for the soul of Taro. But in less thana year he was dead, overcome by mournfulness.

In memory of their noble guests, Sobei and O Yone builta shrine. It was located near the rock where both youths hadsat brooding.

Years later the poet Saigyo came to the island and prayedfor two weeks—while sitting on the rock. It thus becameknown as Saigyo’s Rock.

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HokusaiThe son of a mirror-maker, Hokusai (as he would become

known) began drawing at the age of five—and neverstopped. For nearly a century he knelt at his bench, turn-ing out an estimated 30,000 drawings. He was the mostprolific of artists—a fountain of images—a kind of mirrorof the world.

As a youth Hokusai was put to work as a wood engraver,carving out the designs of others. It was a meticulous formof drudgery that fostered discipline. But his drawing abili-ty was recognized; and at the age of eighteen (in 1778) hewas apprenticed to Shunsho, one of Edo’s leading artists.

Shunsho himself specialized in portraits of actors, for theprint industry. But his studio turned out a wide range ofdesigns—wrestlers, courtesans, ancient heroes, landscapes,street-scenes; and Hokusai tried his hand at all of these. Healso illustrated novelettes. Showing considerable skill, theapprentice was awarded a brush-name: Shunro.*

For fifteen years he drew for the studio, signing his workShunro. During this time he acquired a growing reputation—in particular as a book illustrator. He also married andhad three children.

Then Master Shunsho died. For a while Hokusai remainedwith the studio (which was taken over by Shunko). But itno longer commanded his loyalty; and he began to studywith other teachers, exposing himself to a variety of styles:academic, Chinese, European. This independence of his—along with a forceful personality—led to tensions at the stu-dio; and finally he was expelled.

Hokusai would come to view his expulsion as a boon; forit allowed him to develop a style of his own. He began nowto draw in a lively—even experimental—manner. And he

* It was traditional for a master to bestow variants of his nameupon favored pupils. (Shunsho had been named after his teacher,Shunsui.) Thus, Hokusai—dubbed Shunro—found himselfworking alongside Shunko, Shunjo, and Shunei!

decided to sell the brush-name Shunro (which his reputa-tion made valuable) to another artist, and take a new name:Sori.

Unaffiliated with any studio, he settled into the role (anunusual one) of a freelance artist. Hokusai took whatevercommissions came his way—for prints, book illustrations,paintings. There were dry spells: at one point he wasreduced to peddling almanacs in the street. But he eventu-ally found himself a niche; and his main source of incomebecame the design of surimono.

Surimono were illustrated poems, printed on cards. Aes-thetes of the day would write these poems; have them illus-trated and printed up; and pass them out to friends. Thecards were avidly collected; and the most sought after werethose illustrated by Hokusai. So distinctive was his style—known as the Sori Style—that he began to attract both stu-dents and imitators.

Successful now, the 36-year-old artist began to receive allsorts of commissions. And he decided it was time for a newbrush-name. He chose Hokusai. At first he signed his work“Sori-changing-to-Hokusai.” Then he sold the name Sorito one of his students (who also took over the surimonobusiness), and became “Hokusai-formerly-Sori.” Finally,his signature was simply “Hokusai.”*

During the next decade Hokusai turned out a vast—andvaried—body of work. He illustrated poetry albums. Forsingle-sheet prints he drew landscapes, portraits of courte-sans, scenes from plays. He did picture books: views of Edo;of Lake Biwa; of the Tokaido highway. He illustrated fans,designed advertisements. Energetic and versatile, Hokusaihad become the foremost commercial artist.

He also became a shameless self-promoter, touting him-self in public exhibitions. On a busy street Hokusai wouldset up his bench and demonstrate the art of painting—witha twist. As a crowd gathered, he would paint with his fin-gers—or with an egg—or with the wrong end of a brush.Or he would dash off an upside-down landscape. But the

* The name means “North Star Studio.” It refers to a god (ofthe Buddhist sect to which he belonged) who was associatedwith the North Star.

most renowned of his exhibitions was the painting of a 60-foot-high portrait of Daruma, the Buddhist saint.

The stunt took place during a festival in 1804. In thecourtyard of a temple, Hokusai—aided by his students—spread out a huge, composite sheet of paper. Then heremoved his shoes, hitched up his sleeves, and began topaint—with a broom and caskful of ink. Before a fascinat-ed crowd, Hokusai worked his way down the paper. By the

end of the day a colossal Daruma glared at the sky. The por-trait was raised with ropes and pulleys, and displayed on ascaffolding.

Word of the event reached the ear of the Shogun. AndHokusai received an accolade that was unprecedented (forsomeone of non-aristocratic origins). He was summoned toappear before the Shogun and give an exhibition of hisskills. Also summoned was a classical painter named Bun-cho. He and Hokusai were expected to engage in a con-test.

On the appointed day they were led into the presence ofthe Shogun and his court. Buncho went first, painting ascene in the traditional manner. There were murmurs of

appreciation.Now it was Hokusai’s turn. He had brought with him a

rooster in a cage. Bowing to the Shogun, he strode over toa paper panel, tore it down, and painted it blue. Then hesmeared the rooster’s claws with red paint, and sent the birdrunning and squawking across the paper. Pointing to theprints left behind, Hokusai declared: “Leaves floating onthe river!”

Such exploits increased his fame and brought in com-missions. And entering his forties, Hokusai was busier thanever. In particular, he had begun to illustrate yomi-hon—the sensationalistic novels that were suddenly the rage.Ostensibly moralistic, these novels featured melodramatic,supernatural, and violent goings-on. There were ghost sto-ries, revenge tales, Chinese legends. No artist could wish forlivelier subject matter; and Hokusai rose to the occasion.His drawings were imaginative and dramatic. They con-tributed to the popularity of yomi-hon; and Hokusaibecame the chief illustrator of the genre. The leadingauthor was Bakin, with whom he entered into a lengthycollaboration and quarrelsome friendship. (They arguedover both artistic and financial matters.) Together they pro-duced some 18 novels.*

By the time the craze for yomi-hon subsided, Hokusaihad moved on. Illustrated handbooks (Easy Guide to Draw-

* A few sample titles: Revenge of the Fox, Weird Tales of the Cres-cent Moon, and Raigo the Priest and the Phantom Rat.

ing, The Dance Self-Taught, Edo Cookery) became a special-ty, as did erotic prints.* He did paintings on silk, festivalbanners, murals, float designs, maps, illustrated cups, abook of kimono patterns. And he was still the showman,doing colossal portraits. On one occasion he painted a giantHotei, the god of luck, before a crowd at a temple. When itwas finished, he showed his versatility—by drawing twosparrows on a grain of rice.

And Hokusai was still changing his name whenever thefancy struck him. Sometimes he employed several names atonce: a signature for book illustrations, another for prints,another for paintings. At one point he started adding thesobriquet Gakyo-jin—Man Mad About Drawing—to hisname. Several years later he amended it to Gakyo-rojin—Old Man Mad About Drawing. In his fiftieth year he gaveaway Hokusai—after being criticized for his design of a the-ater billboard—and became Taito (“Polar Star”). In his six-tieth year he assumed the name Iitsu, or One Year OldAgain (sixty years marking the end of a cycle on the Japan-ese calendar). And after being struck by lightning andhurled into a rice field (this happened during a pilgrimage),he called himself Raito (“Lightning Star”) for a while. Hispublishers honored this eccentric habit, issuing his workunder the moniker of the moment. But they usually includ-ed the name Hokusai (which had become highly commer-cial) in the credit. And it was that name—of the thirty orso he adopted during his lifetime—by which he becameknown.

But even more than he changed his name, Hokusaichanged his address. He is said to have had 93 places ofresidence. This mobility arose in part from an aversion tohousecleaning and its disruptions. When an abode becameuncongenial, he simply abandoned it for another. Also, hisspendthrift ways often left him short of cash—and desirousof avoiding creditors. (On one occasion he was forced toflee Edo altogether, and return incognito.) But at the root

* Explicit scenes of love-making were a mainstay of the printindustry. A titillating diversion, they were also given to newly-weds as a marriage manual.

of his transience was a lack of concern with worldly mat-ters—an obsession with drawing, to the exclusion of allelse. A brush-name he occasionally used was Fusenkyo,meaning “untouched by one’s surroundings” or “unat-tached to one’s abode.” When it was easier to move thanto stay put, Hokusai moved—and thought nothing of it.Said his friend Bakin: “When it comes to moving or chang-ing names, I have never met anyone so capricious as thisman.”

Yet wherever it happened to be, his studio bustled withactivity—his own, and that of the artists who came to studywith him. For Master Hokusai was pleased to accept stu-dents. Though never maintaining a formal studio withapprentices and assistants, he taught his innovative styleand techniques to anyone willing to learn (and able toendure his eccentricities and forceful manner). Over theyears he took on more than 300 students. (A few of themwere accorded brush-names—Hokutai, Hokusu, Hokuba—that derived from his own.) Hokusai’s door may havekept shifting its location; but it was always open to aspir-ing artists. Or to anyone with a commission.*

For the benefit of art students, Hokusai created a text-

* Not everyone was welcome at the studio. A certain Kabukiactor (a noted female impersonator) once showed up to have hisportrait done. Appalled by the dust and disorder, he insisted thata rug on which to sit be fetched from his palanquin. Hokusaibooted him from the premises.

book. Titled Manga (“Sketches”), this multi-volume workwas a vast collection of impromptu drawings—an encyclo-pedia of images. It included human figures in every pos-ture and activity; flora and fauna; houses, bridges, boats;and on and on. Intended as models, these lively sketches area monument to his artistry. The preface to Manga pro-claims:

Hokusai herein presents, ably and truly, all that he has everglimpsed or imagined.

Everything in the natural world has been included. TheMaster’s brush captures the spirit—the essence—of things,something most artists fail to grasp on account of a lack ofintuition and drawing skill.

Hokusai has never had the slightest inclination to sitaround sipping tea or sake. He has disdained the usualpleasures of life. For the last half-century he has dedicatedhimself solely to art.

As he entered his seventies, Hokusai’s powers—far fromwaning—peaked; and he created a remarkable series of pic-ture books. The first of these was 36 Views of Fuji, whichwas responsible for making a national symbol of Mt. Fuji.(It also included what has become his best-known image:“The Great Wave.”) There followed other sets of landscapeprints—of waterfalls, bridges, fishing boats. All were print-ed in color.

And in 1834 he published his classic 100 Views of Fuji.Each of these black-and-white drawings depicts a scene ofdaily life, with Fuji looming in the background. The bookcontains a personal note:

Since my sixth year I have had an intense desire to draw.By the age of 50 I had done quite a few drawings. But noth-ing of what I produced prior to my 70th year was especial-ly good. At 73 I was finally able to apprehend—to a slightdegree—the true structure of birds and beasts, fish andinsects, and the nature of grass and trees. At 80 I will per-haps show some signs of progress as an artist. At 90, acquiresome depth. At 100, become inspired. And when I’m 110,

every line and dot may at last come alive. Anyone else sur-viving that long will see if such be not the case.*

These picture books mark the summit of his career. Afterthem, Hokusai continued to draw, publish, and teach—and to pursue that perfect line and dot. But in his 79th year,he suffered a setback. His house burned to the ground.Forced to flee naked into the street, Hokusai lost every-thing, including his accumulated drawings and referencematerial.

But the Master was resilient—and accustomed to find-ing new quarters. He was soon domiciled and back at hisbench. His daughter O-Ei (also an artist) was taking care ofhim now.

They found themselves living, however, in near poverty.A slump in the publishing industry, and the perception ofhis style as old-fashioned, resulted in a dearth of commis-sions. Yet the two managed to get by. During the finaldecade of his life, Hokusai illustrated a few books (a guideto Nikko, a life of the Buddha, a handbook for carpenters);did murals for temples; and painted scrolls for tokonoma.He was in declining health, but as capable as ever. And ascantankerous. On his wall hung a sign: NO COMPLIMENTS OR

GIFTS.For several years during this period Hokusai practiced a

curious ritual. He would get up each morning and draw alion. This was no ordinary lion but a demon-chaser—a tal-ismanic figure that brought good luck and health. Hewould discard the drawings. But O-Ei secretly saved them;and the lions—in a variety of postures—have become partof his artistic legacy.

As he neared 90, the Old Man Mad About Drawing wasstill drawing. But he was not satisfied with the results. Oneday O-Ei found him weeping at his bench. Hokusailamented that he was still unable—after a lifetime of effort—to capture the essence of things.

* Hokusai expected to reach an advanced age, thanks to alongevity elixir that he gulped down daily. It was a mixture ofpotato whiskey, sugar, and dragon-eye fruit, aged in a sealed jarfor two months.

In 1848 he published his final work: On the Use of Color.It is an illustrated artist’s manual—a compendium of tipsand techniques—the secrets of Hokusai!

The following year he became ill and was confined to hisbed. Sensing the end, he joked in a letter:

The King of the Underworld has built himself a retirementcottage, and wants me to come and paint a scroll for itswall. I’ll be heading down there soon, I imagine, with mypaints and brushes. I shall be renting a small apartment, onthe main street of the Underworld. Drop by if you’re everin the area.

Shortly before he died, Hokusai murmured: “If Heavenwould grant me just ten more years—five even!—I mighttruly become an artist.”

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Spirit of the SwordA ship had anchored in Amakusa Bay; and captain and

crew had retired for the night—when they were awakenedby a rumbling sound. Racing on deck, they saw a figurehovering over the waves. It was a maiden dressed in whiteand surrounded by a mist.

As they gazed in wonder, the maiden said: “I yearn toreturn to the world.” And with a rumble she vanished intothe sea.

In the morning the captain went ashore, approachedsome fishermen, and asked if they had ever seen this appari-tion. They shook their heads. But they were familiar withthe rumbling sound. For some time now, they told him, ithad been a nightly occurrence. And ever since its arrival, thefish had fled the bay.

The fishermen discussed the situation.They decided thatthe figure was a ghost—the soul of some maiden who had

drowned in the bay. Her body was defiling the waters andcausing the fish to flee. It had to be removed.

So they summoned the best swimmer in the village, ayouth named Sankichi. The fishermen asked him to divedown and retrieve the body. Despite the danger, Sankichiagreed.

The captain took Sankichi out to his ship. The youthstripped down, prayed, and plunged into the sea.

His initial dives were fruitless. Then, gliding along thebottom, he spotted something and swam to it. Wrapped ina silk brocade was a sword. He tucked it under his arm andascended.

Hoisted onto the ship, Sankichi collapsed with exhaus-tion. The captain and crew examined the sword. Of rareworkmanship, it shone with a dazzling light.

The sword was taken ashore. Villagers crowded aroundto view it. A priest arrived, examined it, and nodded sagely.

“This is a sacred sword,” he said, “that was lost at sea.And no ghost has been disturbing our waters. Rather, therestless spirit of this sword.”

A shrine was built as a resting place for the sword. San-kichi was appointed guardian. And the bay was soon filledagain with fish.

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FoxesTwo kinds of fox are to be found in Japan. One is the

common brown fox (Vulpes vulpes). This adaptable fellowcan live anywhere—in a hole, decayed tree, abandonedbuilding. So he has thrived in settled areas, oblivious to theinroads of civilization. It is not uncommon to glimpse hisbushy tail, as he scampers away from a house.*

The other kind of fox has also held his own—againstinroads of a subtler nature. Invisible and magical, thisspecies has resisted the onslaught of rationalism. That is tosay, a significant portion of the populace still believes in itsexistence. I am speaking of the phantom fox.

Who is this mysterious creature? In his respectable guise,he is associated with the shrines of Inari. There are nearly40,000 such shrines (the most famous being the Fushimi inKyoto). Each has a pair of statues in front of it, depicting awhite fox. But this is no ordinary fox. It is a phantom fox—the servant and messenger of Inari.†

Curiously, the servant has replaced the goddess as thefocus of the shrine. It is to the fox that prayers areaddressed. (He conveys them to Inari.) And suppliantsbring fried tofu—the preferred food of the fox—as an offer-ing. (The offering is left by a hole in the wall, throughwhich the invisible fox comes and goes.) They also keep aneye on the statues, whose tail may wag as a favorable omen.And should their prayer be granted, they will return to theshrine and tie a red bib around the neck of a statue—as a

* The range of the brown fox includes all the major islandsexcept Shikoku, from which the Buddhist saint Kukai is said tohave expelled foxes after one tried to trick him.

† Inari is probably the busiest of the kami. She began as a ricegoddess—the deity to whom farmers prayed for a bountiful har-vest. Later she became popular with merchants, craftsmen, andsamurai, who would entreat her for success in their endeavors.Today anyone is apt to pray to Inari, and for almost anything—prosperity, fertility, relief from coughs and colds.

mark of gratitude to the fox.So if you ask a Japanese about foxes, he will tell you about

this aide to Inari. But he may also mention another type ofphantom fox—one of a more problematical nature. Thegoblin fox.

Like his cousin at the shrine, the goblin fox is invisibleand magical. But there the resemblance ends. The goblinfox is dark, not white. He is associated with houses, notshrines. The real difference, however, is one of character.For the essence of a goblin fox is his propensity for mischief.Even when helping you (should he deign to do so), he willprobably get you in trouble!*

Of his perverse ways, the most dramatic involves posses-sion. Like demons in the West, the goblin fox can enter andcontrol a human being. Victims have been known to curlup and yelp like a fox; tear off their clothes and run throughthe streets; speak in a strange voice. And they develop acraving for fried tofu or soba noodles—favorite foods of thegoblin fox. Today such persons would be treated by a psy-chiatrist. In former times a yamabushi was summoned.With his occult skills he exorcised the fox. (One techniquewas to promise the fox a generous offering of fried tofu—tobe left at an Inari shrine upon his withdrawal.)†

But it is mischief of a deceptive, rather than demonic,nature that is most typical of the goblin fox. For he loves tofool the unwary. To that end he often assumes a human

* For example, a goblin fox might assist you financially by steal-ing your neighbor’s wallet and leaving it in plain view on yourdoorstep.

† Perhaps the most extreme attempt to deal with a case of foxpossession was that of Hideyoshi. When one of his servants exhib-ited symptoms of possession, the warlord wrote the following let-ter to Inari: “My Liege. I wish to apprise you of the fact that oneof your foxes has taken over a servant of mine, causing griefamong us. I would like you to investigate the matter, and deter-mine the reason for this fox’s behavior. Should he be found to lackjustification, I demand that you censure him immediately andtake the knave into custody. Otherwise, I shall order a generaldestruction of foxes. For details concerning this case, contact thepriest Yoshida. Obediently yours, Hideyoshi.”

form—particularly that of a seductive female. (Tales aboundof men led to ruin by a fox-woman.) Another tactic is tobewitch people and lead them into a dangerous situation.For instance, he might cause someone to mistake the direc-tion of a one-way street. Or consider an incident reportedby the priest of the Inari shrine at Wakayama.

A visitor was driving up the mountain to the shrine—when an oncoming car appeared, headed directly towardhim. He swerved and managed to miss it. But the next day,as he came down the mountain—that same oncoming car!This time it was too late to swerve. He braced for a colli-sion—there was a thud—and the car vanished. Pulling over,he found the body of a fox in the road. In an attempt tosend him plunging off the road, the fox had assumed anillusory form.

A favorite trick of the fox is to leave a gift or payment thatbecomes worthless. The story is told of a well-dressed man(with a suspicious bulge under his coat), who entered apopular soba shop and consumed bowl after bowl of noo-dles. He paid and left. In the morning his money was foundto have turned into wood shavings. (The bulge, of course,had been his tail.)

No wonder “foxy” in Japanese signifies deceitful or wick-ed!

Where do these goblin foxes live? Some inhabit wild,solitary places (where they are thought to be a source ofmysterious lights). But the majority attach themselves to ahuman household, whose responsibility it becomes to feedthem. For the host family this is a risky association—one itmay come to regret having acquiesced to. For while foxesmay attract prosperity (if well-treated), they are easilyoffended—in which case they attract adversity. Anotherdrawback to having foxes is the expense. A fox rarely movesin alone. Instead, he brings with him his relatives—74 ofthem, it is believed—all of whom must be fed.*

A further drawback to having foxes is that a family may

* A family with foxes does not eat until its foxes have done so.When the rice is ready, the cook taps on and uncovers the pot.This is a signal for the foxes to rise invisibly from beneath thehouse and consume their portion.

be shunned by its neighbors. Their prosperity is deemed ill-gained—indecently acquired—tainted by a supernaturalorigin. And shunned or not, the family will have difficultyin marrying off its daughters, who would bring foxes withthem into their new household.*

So goblin foxes can be a problem. They can make youcrazy, eat your rice, alienate your neighbors. Assuminghuman form, they wreak particular havoc: seducing orcheating the unwary. A fox in disguise, though, isdetectable. If a charming stranger rouses your suspicions,lead him to a body of water. His true form will be reflect-ed. Or bring in a dog: unaffected by the illusion, it will barkat a fox. Or take a look at any cash the person has given you:it may already have turned to dross.

It is best to keep foxes at arm’s length. Unless, of course,they are the good kind—the white servants of Inari. Andeven then be wary. The following incident was reported byLafcadio Hearn, in his Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan (1894).It involves the proprietor of a tofu shop in the town whereHearn was living.

A man in wretched attire used to come to his shop everyevening to buy a cho of tofu, which he devoured on thespot with the haste of one long famished. Every evening forweeks he came, and never spoke; but the landlord saw oneevening the tip of a bushy white tail protruding frombeneath the stranger’s rags. The sight aroused strange sur-mises and weird hopes. From that night he began to treatthe mysterious visitor with obsequious kindness. Butanother month passed before the latter spoke. Then whathe said was about as follows:—

“Though I seem to you a man, I am not a man; and Itook upon myself human form only for the purpose of vis-iting you. I come from Taka-machi, where my temple is, atwhich you often visit. And being desirous to reward yourpiety and goodness of heart, I have come to-night to save

* To be shunned is a serious matter in Japan, where belongingto the group is a prime concern. An American might simplyshrug it off. With our traditions of independence and individu-alism, we might welcome being shunned—i.e., being left alone byour neighbors.

you from a great danger. For by the power which I possessI know that to-morrow this street will burn, and all thehouses in it shall be utterly destroyed except yours. To saveit, I am going to make a charm. But in order that I may dothis, you must open your godown (kura) that I may enter,and allow no one to watch me; for should living eye lookupon me there, the charm will not avail.”

The shopkeeper, with fervent words of gratitude, openedhis storehouse, and reverently admitted the seeming Inari,and gave orders that none of his household or servantsshould keep watch. And these orders were so well obeyedthat all the stores within the storehouse, and all the valu-ables of the family, were removed without hindrance dur-ing the night. Next day the kura was found to be empty.And there was no fire.

The proprietor had been conned—by a rascally human.Foxes have no monopoly, it would seem, on mischief anddeceit!

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BowingThe kappa is a goblin that resides in ponds and rivers. He

likes to grab onto swimmers and drown them. Occasional-ly he comes ashore and challenges people to a fight. In thatcase he may be defeated by a simple ruse. It involves thehollow in his head, which must remain filled with water.Simply bow to the kappa. Returning your bow, he spills thewater and becomes enfeebled. And he will return your bow.For nothing is more ingrained in the inhabitants of Japan—goblins included—than bowing.

Central to the etiquette of the nation, bowing has manyfunctions. Essentially, it is a form of greeting—the equiva-lent of our handshake. But it may also serve to expressrespect, apology, acquiescence. One bows in almost everysocial situation. Friends meet with a bow. Teachers ex-change bows with their classes. And at shrines, worshipersbow to the kami. Not to bow at the proper time—and inthe proper fashion—would be a major lapse.*

A proper bow is determined by the occasion, and by thesocial status of those involved. There are three types of bow:

* In feudal times such a lapse could be fatal. Failure to bow toa passing samurai was punishable by instant execution.

light, medium, and deep. The light bow is the basic greet-ing or farewell. Bending at the waist, you incline yourhead about 20 degrees. Men hold their hands at their sides;women, on their knees. The head remains down for a sec-ond or so.

The medium bow is about twice as deep and twice aslong. It may be used to express gratitude or sorrow. But itsmain function is as a gesture of respect—to an importantpersonage, or to anyone senior to you. A worker greets hisboss with a medium bow. The boss responds with a slight-ly lesser bow—indicative of the importance of status in thebusiness world. In a situation involving strangers, the bow-ing may be preceded by an exchange of business cards.These are discreetly glanced at, that the parties may deter-mine their relative status and bow accordingly.

The deep bow—a virtual right angle—is rarely seen. Itis reserved for extreme cases of apology or supplication. Informer times it was the posture of obeisance to the Emperor(who is today accorded a medium bow), the Shogun, andother exalted personages.

So a Japanese will bow frequently in the course of a day—at work, in public places, even on the telephone! In thecase of salarymen—who must continually bow to fellowemployees—the practice has led to a health problem. As aresult of their constant bending, salarymen are prone tolumbago.

If you visit Japan, learn the protocols of bowing. It is notas complicated as it sounds. Just bow to whomever youmeet. Pay attention to the depth of your bow, and to itsduration. For an ordinary greeting, both parties shouldbow for the same length of time. Should you raise yourhead and discover his to be still inclined, duck back down.

The handshake has made inroads in Japan. So be pre-pared for a combined bow and shake.

And one final tip. In close-up situations, bow slightly tothe left—to prevent knocking heads.*

* This applies only in Japan and England. Elsewhere in theworld, bow to the right.

GodzillaJapan’s cinema is one of its glories. Such masterpieces as

Yojimbo, The Seven Samurai, Autumn Leaves, Ugetsu, andSancho the Bailiff have received widespread acclaim. Yetnone of these critical successes can rival—in popularity—aseries of monster movies that came out of Toho Studios(and that are still being made). I am referring, of course, tothe Godzilla cycle.

The first of these films, made in 1954, was titled Gojira—or, in the English-language version, Godzilla, King of theMonsters. The protagonist is a giant reptile who breathesfire. Moviegoers were taken with the malevolent glare of thecreature; and the film was a hit.

Since then, numerous sequels have appeared. Withtheir lively special effects, most of these have done well atthe box office. Yet none can compare with the original. ForGodzilla, King of the Monsters is a powerful work of art.The characters have a grim intensity. The musical score isexciting and evocative. The black-and-white photogra-phy has a stark, documentary feel. For all its B-moviecrudeness, the film creates a mood that is somber and seri-ous.

The story of that first Godzilla film goes as follows:An unknown force has been sinking ships near the island

of Odo. Investigators arrive at the island. They find itsinhabitants in a state of anxiety.

The islanders insist that a local monster—Godzilla—isresponsible for the sinkings. Asleep for centuries in hisunderwater lair, he has awoke and must be appeased. Theirancestors, they murmur, used to tie a maiden to a raft andsend her out as a sacrifice.

The investigators shake their heads at these supersti-tious beliefs. But the islanders know what they know. Andthough unwilling to sacrifice a maiden, they don masksand costumes that have not been used in generationsand perform a ceremonial dance—a ritual to ward offGodzilla.

Alas, it fails. That night a storm arrives; and with it,Godzilla. Roaring and stomping about in the dark, hedestroys a village.

Still skeptical, the investigators blame the destructionon the storm—until they catch a glimpse of the creaturelumbering along the shore. Tokyo is informed of the men-ace; and the government moves into action. Troops aremobilized. And scientists are told to locate and destroyGodzilla.

Among the scientists is Dr. Serizawa. He has developedan “oxygen-destroyer” that might be effective against thecreature. But Serizawa has misgivings about unleashing sodestructive a weapon, and refuses to do so.

Godzilla emerges now from Tokyo Bay. He waddlesashore and begins to wreck havoc. In a spectacular fashion,he destroys portions of the capital. He struts about—breathes fire—smashes buildings. The population flees interror; the armed forces are helpless.

It is an unforgettable sequence. But the high point of thefilm is a scene that follows.

The entire nation has been called upon to pray for deliv-erance. And we watch as hundreds of schoolgirls—row afterrow of them—chant a prayer. The beauty of the chant, theinnocence and intensity of the girls, the uniformity of theirdress—these seem like something out of a national epic, nota monster movie. It is a compelling moment.

Finally, Dr. Serizawa relents and unleashes his weapon.Godzilla surfaces for one last roar, then sinks beneath thewaves. The monster has been slain.

But a year later he (or a cousin who resembles him,

Godzilla having been seen to perish) was back—in Gigan-tis, the Fire Monster.* The sequel pits him against Angilas,another prehistoric monster who has turned up. Theyengage in an ongoing tussle, during which Osaka Castle (amajor tourist attraction) is destroyed. Judiciously, Godzillais not killed off at the end of the film. Instead, he getsburied under ice—ready to be resurrected, should anothersequel be made.

And resurrected he was, in King Kong vs. Godzilla. Thefirst of the series to be filmed in color, this 1962 productionis short on plot, but packed with special effects. The cli-mactic moment comes when Kong is airlifted (by balloons)to Mt. Fuji. There he battles it out with Godzilla.

Godzilla was a star now; and sequels began to appear reg-ularly. But as the cycle progressed, the character of the crea-ture underwent a significant change. His features softened;his gyrations were occasionally comic…and he became ahero! He turned now to fighting other monsters, not thearmed forces of Japan. No longer the bane of the nation, hebecame her champion. True, he still obliterated buildings—either inadvertently (during fights with monsters) orpetulantly (during tantrums). But mainly he saved Japanfrom one giant creature after another—from Gobara,Rodan, Gigan, Mechagodzilla (built by spacemen insideMt. Fuji), Titanosaurus, three-headed King Ghidorah,Megalon. Sometimes he was joined in this public service bygood monsters (such as King Seesar), or rehabilitated badmonsters (Rodan and Mothra). At other times he had to goit alone. As a result of his change of heart, he assumed therole of Japan’s mascot—its protective pet. In Godzilla vs. theSmog Monster, the new attitude towards him is clearly dis-cernable. As Godzilla walks off, having defeated the SmogMonster, a child calls out: “Godzilla, thanks a lot!”

And when he did knock down buildings, it was to deliv-er a message. As the narrator intones at the end of Godzil-la, 1985: “Nature has a way somehow of reminding Man ofjust how small he is. She occasionally throws up terrifying

* Due to a problem with the rights to the name, Godzilla hadto be called Gigantis in the English-language version of the sec-ond film.

offspring of our pride or carelessness, to remind us howpuny we really are, in the face of a tornado, an earthquake,or a Godzilla.”

The sequels to Godzilla, King of the Monsters (21 of themthus far) are full of monster battles and special effects thathave grown increasingly sophisticated. What these filmslack is the subtle artistry of the original—its somber atmos-phere and mythic resonance. Only occasionally does anypoetic or legendary material creep in.

One such moment, though, does come to mind. InGodzil-la vs. Mechagodzilla, the mechanical monster has gotten thebest of Godzilla. Only King Seesar can save the day. ButSeesar is hibernating in a cave; and only a descendant of theAzumi royal family can awaken him. She shows up and—in a scene reminiscent of the chanting schoolgirls—reviveshim with an ancient hymn.

Such scenes are prize passages in what has become anational saga—a B-movie epic—a ritual of crisis andredemption. The Godzilla cycle!

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How to Fold a PaperHouse

You may have heard that the Japanese live (or used tolive) in paper houses. That is not strictly true. In a tradi-tional house, paper panels divided the interior into rooms.They also served as translucent outer walls. But the basicframework of a house was wood. Its roof was tile. And woodpanels shuttered the house at night. No one lived in a“paper house.”

Today, most Japanese live in apartment buildings—Western-style concrete towers. But some are returning totheir roots. They have been rediscovering the traditionalhouse. And with advances in origami, it is now possible tolive in a house made totally of paper.

The advantages of such a house? Paper is inexpensive andeasy to repair. It is cool in the summer. And it has a fragilitythat puts you in touch with nature—that allows sunlight tofilter in, along with the sounds of crickets, wind and rain.

Using the techniques of origami, a family can fold itsown paper house—in less than a day! All that’s needed is asite and pile of paper. Here’s how it’s done:

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A Boon from BentenBaishu, a young scholar of Kyoto, was given to wander-

ing about the city. One day he came upon a shrine to Ben-ten, the goddess of good fortune. As he stood before theshrine, the wind blew a slip of paper against his shoe. Bai-shu picked it up and discovered a love poem, written in adelicate, feminine hand.

He took the poem home, read it again and again…andfell in love with its author.

Returning to the shrine, he prayed to Benten. “Help melocate the maiden who wrote this poem,” he pleaded. Andhe vowed to spend a seven-day vigil at the shrine.

On the last night of his vigil, the door to the shrineopened. A priest emerged and approached Baishu. He tieda ritual cord about the scholar’s waist, waved his hands, andmurmured an incantation.

Sensing a presence, Baishu turned to find a youngwoman standing beside him. Her face was half-hidden bya fan. She glowed in the moonlight.

Immediately, he knew who she was: the maiden withwhom he had fallen in love. Bowing to the priest, hethanked him for bringing them together.

“Thank Benten,” said the priest, bidding them adieuand going back into the shrine.

They walked through the moonlit streets, conversingand looking at one another. Baishu was thrilled by her beau-ty. Her melodious voice filled him with joy. When theyreached his house, she said: “Benten has married us.” Andthey passed inside as man and wife.

As the weeks went by, Baishu’s love for his new wife deep-ened. She was a painter as well as a poet, he discovered. Andher domestic skills—flower arrangement, embroidery, cook-ing—brought cheer to their modest dwelling. Curiously,she never mentioned her family, nor where she was from.But what of it? shrugged Baishu. The goddess of good for-tune had brought them together; and nothing else mat-tered.

One thing, though, he found exceedingly odd: no one elseseemed to be aware of his wife. It was as if she were invisibleto the neighbors. Yet so much in love was Baishu that heignored this puzzling fact.

Now Baishu continued to take walks about the city.And one afternoon, while ambling along, he saw someonemotioning to him from a doorway. “Please come in!” calledthe man.

Seeing no reason not to, Baishu entered the house. Theman introduced himself as a merchant, and apologized forthe abruptness of the invitation. He had a servant bring intea. Then, in excited tones, he revealed the reason for invit-ing Baishu into his home.

He had an accomplished daughter, explained the mer-chant, for whom he had resolved to find a suitable husband.So he had assembled a few poems she had written, and sentthem—with an offering—to a shrine of Benten.

“I begged the goddess to find a proper companion forthis daughter of mine.”

Soon thereafter, the goddess had appeared to him in adream. She had announced that a husband had been locat-ed, and would arrive in a few weeks. He had dismissed thisappearance of Benten as a mere dream, confessed the mer-chant. But then, last night, the goddess had visited himagain. This time she had described the prospective husbandin detail, and had told the merchant to keep an eye out forhim. For he was to arrive the next day.

“And you are he!” cried the merchant. “Right down tothe shabby blue robe I was told to watch for!”

He insisted that Baishu meet his daughter, who was wait-ing in the next room. Reluctantly, Baishu rose and followedafter the merchant. He could not bring himself to tell thepoor fellow that he already had a wife. Stepping throughthe doorway, he feared it was going to be an awkward situ-ation.

Imagine his amazement when a familiar voice greetedhim, and a familiar face peeked from behind the fan. For themerchant’s daughter was none other than his wife. She gavehim a knowing smile.

It was his beloved. Yet she seemed more—what was it?—

tangible now. And he realized that hitherto Benten hadgranted him only her soul. Their union was about to becompleted.

Baishu married the daughter in a traditional ceremony.When he brought her home, the neighbors flocked to meether. Aware of her now, and impressed with her beauty andabilities, they congratulated the scholar on his good for-tune.

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MoonThe Japanese have a thing about the moon. They admire

its pale, restrained beauty—its serenity—its subtle light.They like the mystic glow it casts upon a landscape. Theycherish its inexplicable pull upon their hearts.

To honor it, an observance called Moon Viewing Night(tsukimi) is held in September. On the evening of the fullmoon, a family gathers on its veranda. Offerings to themoon—fruit and flowers—are placed on an altar. As thesilver ball rises, the family members gaze upon it in rever-ence. They recite poems and sip sake. And they partake ofa special meal. It features foods that are moon-shaped, suchas steamed dumplings. (If the sky is cloudy, the meal mayinclude poached eggs, whose shape suggests a moonobscured by clouds.)

Countless poets have lavished praise upon the moon.One was Ryokan, a Zen monk of saintly disposition. Onenight Ryokan returned to his hut, to find that his few pos-sessions—quilt, meditation pillow, rice pot—had beenstolen. He sat down and wrote a haiku:

A thief has cleaned me out!…but never mind.In the window, the moon he left behind.

Going TherePassing before the moon, a jumbo jetOn its way…but not there yet.

That nightly flight is bound for Tokyo International Air-port. Among its passengers are tourists, eager and expec-tant.

One of those tourists could be you.Would you like to explore an exotic land?Is your passport in order?All right then. Let’s go to Japan!

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Where to StayAs you tour Japan, a variety of accommodations will be

available. Which should you chose? A major factor, ofcourse, will be the cost. But equally important will be thetype of experience you want. Are comfort and convenienceyour prime concern? Or would you like to get in touch withthe uniqueness—the richness—the soul of another coun-try? Do you wish to insulate yourself from the local culture,or embrace it?

Here are the alternatives.

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Western-style hotel

Modern hotels abound in Japan. They are not cheap; butyou’ll get first-class service and the usual amenities. You’llalso get familiar surroundings. In your suite at the Wash-ington (a major chain in Japan), you’ll wake up in a soft bed…and for a moment not recall that you’re abroad. In theAmerican-style restaurant downstairs, you’ll breakfast onscrambled eggs, toast, and coffee…and nearly forget thatyou’re thousands of miles from home.

But is that really what you want? Is that why you cameso many miles? Surely not.*

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Capsule hotel

Though located near train stations, capsule hotels arenot intended for travelers. Rather, they serve commuters

* Actually, a reason to visit Japan would be to experience a clas-sic Western hotel. Remember those temples of luxury, with theirornate lobbies, marble staircases, and antique furnishings? Theyhave largely vanished in the U.S.—torn down or remodeled intosomething less pompous. But a number of them were built inJapan and still exist—maintained in their original condition.

who have been working late (or carousing in bars) and needa place to stay overnight.

What is a capsule hotel? It is a kind of dormitory, withbanks of receptacles—the capsules—in which to sleep. Thereare also lockers and showers. Each guest is given a yukata(sleeping robe), bar of soap, and towel, and assigned to a cap-sule. Slightly larger than a coffin, it comes fully equipped—bedding, television, lamp—and is air-conditioned. Youclimb in, close the curtain, stretch out, watch the news, fallasleep.

It’s not the Majestic. But it is an inexpensive place tospend the night.

Guests are asked not to eat, drink, or smoke in the cap-sules.

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Love hotel

Love hotels specialize in renting rooms (by the hour ornight) to young couples. Desiring an amorous adventure,the couple heads for the entertainment district of the city;and they seek out one of these shrines to Cupid.

They will have no difficulty in spotting it. The hotel’sname—an English import such as Dreamland or Eden—is emblazoned in neon. And the building has a fairy-

land facade. Everything is handled discreetly. The coupleapproaches a slot by the door, pays an unseen cashier, andslips inside.

The room to which they have been assigned is as fantas-tical as the hotel’s facade. It has been decorated as a love lair,with plush carpeting, artistic lighting, and sensual colors.The bed is heart-shaped; the bath is baroque. Erotic moviesare available on the television. The couple grin at oneanother and settle in.

But would a tourist want to stay at a love hotel? Yes—when he can’t find a room elsewhere. During festivals, theregular hotels get booked up. But love hotels always havevacancies, and at reasonable rates.

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Minshuku

A minshuku is a private home that takes in travelers—asort of bed-and-breakfast. You will be the paying guest of afamily. They will provide you with a room, futon, meals,conversation, company—and a glimpse into Japanese life.All at a bargain price.

No maid service is provided. (You put away your ownfuton.) And you may have to share the room with anothertraveler. But for homelike surroundings—warmth and hos-pitality—check into a minshuku.

Ryokan

Ryokan are the old-fashioned inns of Japan. They are tobe found throughout the country, and often at sceniclocales: overlooking the sea, clinging to a mountainside,beside a hot spring. Some are centuries old. If you want ataste of tradition, this is where to stay. Ryokan can beexpensive. But your stay will be memorable—for you willconnect with the antique soul of Japan.

Try to find an older ryokan that has escaped remodeling.You will arrive at a low, wooden building that has been art-fully landscaped. Thenakai-san (“chambermaid in kimono”)greets you at the entrance. She explains the shoe etiquette,and takes you to your room—the Cherry Blossom Suite,perhaps. (The rooms have names, not numbers.) With a gra-cious smile, she slides open the door and leads you inside.

The suite is a traditional Japanese interior, overlooking agarden. It is partitioned by paper panels. Fragrant tatamimats cover the floor. In the tokonoma is a scroll, and a vasewith a freshly-cut sprig.*

As you take this in, the nakai-san serves you a cup of teaand plate of sweets. She points out your yukata, and tellsyou how to get to the bath.

Dinner is served in your room. It is traditional Japanese

* The tokonoma (“alcove of honor”) is for works of art. Don’tstow your luggage in it.

fare and features local specialties. There are dozens of exoticitems, served in an elegant miscellany of china. Seated ona cushion before a low table, you dig in with chopsticks anddevour this feast. Afterwards, you stroll in the garden.

Everything is traditional in a ryokan—including thesleeping arrangements. As bedtime approaches, the nakai-san lays out your futon and covers. And you are soon enjoy-ing a deep slumber.

But don’t forget—a futon is not left out during the day.The nakai-san will show up in the morning, intent on fold-ing it up and putting it away in a closet. So don’t oversleep.

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Shukubo

As you travel about, consider staying at a temple orshrine. They have lodgings—known as shukubo—toaccommodate pilgrims; and many now take in tourists aswell.

It’s a great opportunity. You’ll get an inside view of tem-ple life; a look at classical art and architecture; and pic-turesque surroundings. And you’ll be helping the temple toraise funds. But remember—these are functioning temples,

not tourist sites. Be respectful.And expect to participate in the daily life of the place.

You will share vegetarian meals with the monks. You will beasked to help clean the grounds or to join in the morningchant. And your living quarters will be Spartan. But whatbetter way to learn about—and appreciate—an ancientway of life.

One word of caution. If it’s a Zen temple, don’t approacha monk and ask him: “What is Zen?” He may bop you onthe head.

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SightseeingThe following are a few places you might want to visit.

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The Inner Shrine of Ise

Deep in a forest is the Inner Shrine of Ise. The seat ofAmaterasu, it is the most sacred site in the land.

The shrine dates back to 670, and has an archaic look. Itis thought to have been modeled on an ancient type ofstorehouse. The roof is thatched, the walls are unadorned.Instead of the Chinese-style ornamentation of later shrines,one finds here an austerity that is uniquely Japanese.

But a remarkable fact about this antiquity is that everytwenty years it is torn down. The dwelling place of the god-dess is dismantled; and its timbers are sent to subsidiaryshrines (who use them for repairs and talismans).

And where does Amaterasu go? To an exact duplicate ofthe shrine, built alongside it. Before tearing down the oldshrine, the priests hold a ceremony in which the goddess istransferred. Then, for twenty years, she inhabits the newstructure—until it, in turn, is replaced.

This has been going on for thirteen centuries.Why is it done? For reasons of ritual purity—a prime

concern of Shinto. The shrine becomes impure and must berenewed. Once standard practice with shrines, the traditionhas been maintained solely at Ise.

Only priests (and imperial envoys) may pass beyond theprotective fences and enter the shrine. That is often disap-pointing to visitors, who, having heard of the architecturalsublimity of the shrine, find themselves able to view onlythe roof. Yet a visitor can experience the essence of Ise—which lies in its setting. Just look about. The shrine is at onewith the surrounding forest. Its wooden beams harmonizewith the tall cedars. An aura of sanctity pervades the entirelocale.

Ise is associated with a pivotal moment in Japanese his-tory. During the Mongolian invasion, the Emperor sent anenvoy to the shrine. The envoy prayed to Amaterasu foraid. On that very day, clouds gathered over the armada—darkened—blotted out the sun. A rising wind became atyphoon, and destroyed the Mongolian fleet.

Sacred relics are kept in the shrine. Among them is themirror that Amaterasu gave to her grandson, the founder ofJapan.*

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Great Buddha of Nara

In 743 a smallpox epidemic was devastating Nara, theoriginal capital of Japan. Prayers to the kami had gone un-heeded. In desperation Emperor Shomu called upon monksof the new Buddhist faith to intervene. They prayed…andthe epidemic ceased.

The Emperor ordered that, as an act of homage, a giantstatue of the Buddha be erected. He also sent an emissaryto Ise. Would such an act be acceptable, he wanted to know,to Amaterasu?

The reply was favorable. Amaterasu had revealed (accord-ing to her priests) that she and the cosmic aspect of the Bud-dha were one. This oracle (or priestly maneuver) allowedthe two faiths to co-exist.

The Great Buddha of Nara (not to be confused with theGreat Buddha of Kamakara, who spoke with the Whale)took nine years to complete. 52-feet-high, it was cast frombronze and covered with gold. Thousands of craftsmen andlaborers were involved in the project. Also constructed wasa temple—the Todaiji—in which to house the statue.

Twelve centuries later, the Great Buddha of Nara is stilldrawing pilgrims. They come also to see the Todaiji. It is

* Amaterasu’s mirror, sword, and necklace constitute the ThreeSacred Treasures—the imperial regalia of Japan. The sword iskept at the Shrine of Atsuta. The necklace—whose transfer to anew Emperor marks his accession—is kept in a special room inthe palace.

the largest wooden building in the world, and contains thelargest bell in Japan. The Todaiji is an architectural marvel.One is struck by its size—and by its air of lightness.

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Bridge of Heaven

In Miyazu Bay is a sandbar called the Ama-no-hashidate,or Bridge of Heaven. It is two miles long and framed byscenic coastline. The pine trees that cling to it have beenmolded by the wind into fantastical shapes.

It is said that Izanagi and Izanami stood here while cre-ating the Japanese islands.

A popular custom has arisen. Visitors stand on platformsalong the shore. They bow low and view the sandbarbetween their legs. Seen upside down, it appears to span thesky like a bridge.

The Bridge of Heaven ranks as one of the Three ClassicViews.*

* The others are Miyajima (“Shrine Island”), approached via agiant torii set in the water, and Matsushima Bay (where Bashowas at a loss for words).

Sado Island

Sado is a one-hour crossing by hydrofoil from Niigata.The island is a patchwork of farms, with fishing villagesclinging to the coast. There are no large towns; and thepopulation is sparse.

Some unique folkways have been preserved on Sado (forthe tourist trade, at least). The men thump on “demondrums.” The women float about in tubs and gather sea-weed. Folded hats and blue kimonos are worn. And Bun’ya—an ancient form of puppet theater—is today found onlyon Sado.

In feudal times the remote island was used as a place ofexile. Among those banished here were Emperor Juntoku;Emperor Godaigo; Nichiren, a religious reformer; and Zea-mi, the founder of Noh drama. The Emperors brought withthem their entire households, including chefs and musi-cians.

Then gold was discovered on the island. To provideworkers for the mine, the government set up a prisoncolony. It was shut down long ago; and tourists wend theirway now through the tunnels. They stop to watch mechan-ical figures that reenact the grim labors of old.

Sado is known for its melancholy folk songs. They arethought to have originated with those court musicians.

The crested ibis has survived here.

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Nikko

A popular adage goes: “Never say kekko [magnificent]until you’ve seen Nikko.”

Nikko is a small town, two hours from Tokyo. It owes itsfame to the Toshogu Shrine, the most sumptuous collectionof art and architecture in Japan.

Set on a mountainside and surrounded by ancient cedars,Toshogu consists of 22 buildings. Each is richly decoratedon the outside, and even more so on the inside. 15,000craftsmen—sculptors, painters, woodcarvers, goldsmiths

—labored for twenty years on this blockbuster of a shrine.The cost was astronomical.

Two famous sculptures are located here: the Sleeping Cat(known to every child in Japan), and the original ThreeMonkeys (see no evil, hear no evil, say no evil). You mightalso want to check out the Gate Where One Tarries All Day,so named for its elaborate detail. But the centerpiece—andraison d’être—of Toshogu Shrine is a mausoleum. Buriedhere is Ieyasu, a shogun who arranged to have himself dei-fied upon death. His pomp and majesty were intended tosurvive him—and they have.

Nikko is a stunning experience. Splendor after splendor.Don’t miss it.

But when you return to your room at the inn, pause atthe tokonoma…and ponder that single flower in its vase.Just to regain your equilibrium. Your sense of restraint.

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Himeji Castle

During the Time of Warring States, every warlord hadhis castle. Twelve of these structures have survived. The restwere either destroyed in warfare, or—during the Meiji era—deemed relics of feudal times and pulled down.

A castle was constructed of wood (with a plaster cover-ing to protect against fire), and mounted on a stone ram-part. Its defenses were intricate and ingenious. First came amoat. As they plunged through the water, attacking soldierswere showered with bullets and arrows from guard towers.

At that point the attackers had a choice. They could callit quits and go home; draw back and besiege the castle; ortry smashing through its fortified gate. If successful insmashing, they would find themselves in a masugata. Thiswas an enclosure in which the attacking forces had to makea right turn—losing the force of their charge—and dealwith another gate. Meanwhile, they were being showeredwith bullets and arrows. It was a kind of ambush.

If they persisted and were able to penetrate the secondgate, a series of mazelike passages and fortified courts await-

ed them. And if these fell, there was still the tenshu.The tenshu—a fortified and provisioned tower—was the

stronghold of the castle. It was studded with loopholes, forthe guns (introduced by Portuguese traders) that werechanging the face of warfare. It also had chutes from whichrocks could be dropped. And on its roof were a pair of tiger-fish—charms against fire.

So a castle was artfully designed to withstand attacks.But it was artistically designed as well. Its graceful gablesand eaves were similar to those of temples and palaces. Andat the top of the tenshu an elegant moon-viewing chamberwas often installed. Whether out of vanity or aestheticsensibility, the warlords insisted upon beauty in their cas-tles.

Of the surviving castles, Himeji—built by Hideyoshi—is the most impressive. Its elaborate defenses are intact; andthe place has a storybook air. On account of its soaringwhite towers, Himeji has been nicknamed the White EgretCastle.

Zeniarai Benten

Be sure to visit this shrine to Benten, goddess of goodfortune. It is located in the ancient capital of Kamakura, ina cave by a spring.

Try washing your currency in the spring. It is believedthat money washed here will bring a 100% profit. (Don’ttry this with travelers checks—the ink of your signaturewill run.)

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Temple of Kwannon

Also in Kamakura is the Temple of Kwannon. A shortwalk from the Bronze Buddha, it houses another giantstatue—of Kwannon, goddess of mercy. Over a thousandyears old, this statue was carved from half a camphor tree.Its origin is the subject of a legend.

A priest named Tokudo (the story goes) was walkingthrough a valley one night, when he noticed a strange radi-ance. Approaching it, he discovered a fallen camphor tree.The radiance—and a sweet fragrance—arose from this tree.The wood was sacred, he realized, and should be carvedinto an image of Kwannon.

He began to pray. And an elderly couple appeared beforehim. They told him to keep praying. And splitting the treein half, they set about carving a pair of giant statues.

After three days the work was complete. Tokudo bowedto the couple and asked who they were. They replied thatthey were kami. And they rose into the sky and disap-peared.

Informed of the miracle, the Emperor dispatched a high-ranking priest to the site. The priest blessed the statues.Then he ordered that one of them be cast into the sea.Wherever it came ashore, he declared, at that place wouldhumanity be redeemed of sin.

The statue was flung from a cliff into the sea. It driftedalong the coast. That night it entered the harbor of Kama-kura.

Awakened by a light, the townsfolk found a radiant

Kwannon floating near their boats. They hauled the statueashore, and built a temple in which to house it.

In the 1890s Lafcadio Hearn visited the Temple ofKwannon. He describes being shown the statue (the radi-ance—but not the power—of which had faded):

Then the old priest lights a lantern, and leads the way,through a low doorway on the left of the altar, into the inte-rior of the temple, into some very lofty darkness. I followhim cautiously awhile, discerning nothing whatever butthe flicker of the lantern; then we halt before somethingwhich gleams. A moment, and my eyes, becoming moreaccustomed to the darkness, begin to distinguish outlines;the gleaming object defines itself gradually as a Foot, animmense golden Foot, and I perceive the hem of a goldenrobe undulating over the instep. Now the other footappears; the figure is certainly standing. I can perceive thatwe are in a narrow but also very lofty chamber, and that outof some mysterious blackness overhead ropes are danglingdown into the circle of lantern-light illuminating the gold-en feet. The priest lights two more lanterns, and suspendsthem upon hooks attached to a pair of pendent ropes abouta yard apart; then he pulls up both together slowly. Moreof the golden robe is revealed as the lanterns ascend, swing-ing on their way; then the outlines of two mighty knees;then the curving of columnar thighs under chiseled drap-ery, and, as with the still waving ascent of the lanternsthe golden Vision towers ever higher through the gloom,expectation intensifies. There is no sound but the sound ofthe invisible pulleys overhead, which squeak like bats. Nowabove the golden girdle, the suggestion of a bosom. Thenthe glowing of a golden hand uplifted in benediction. Thenanother golden hand holding a lotus. And at last a Face,golden, smiling with eternal youth and infinite tenderness,the face of Kwannon.

So revealed out of the consecrated darkness, this ideal ofdivine feminity—creation of a forgotten art and time—ismore than impressive. I can scarcely call the emotion whichit produces admiration; it is rather reverence.

But the lanterns, which paused awhile at the level of thebeautiful face, now ascend still higher, with a fresh squeak-ing of pulleys. And lo! the tiara of the divinity appears, withstrangest symbolism. It is a pyramid of heads, of faces—

charming faces of maidens, miniature faces of Kwannonherself.

For this is the Kwannon of the Eleven Faces—Jiu-ichi-men-Kwannon.

Iga-Ueno

Fifteen miles from Nara is the town of Iga-Ueno. Itsmain attraction is the house in which Basho was born.There is also a tea arbor in which he lived for a while. Anda Basho museum.

The town has another historic association: the ninja.They had one of their headquarters here. So after commun-ing with Basho, head over to the Ninja Mansion for a tour.

And you might want to stop at the Kumihimo Center.Kumihimo are the braids on kimonos, swords, and scrolls.Most of them are crafted in Iga-Ueno.

Finally, Ueno Castle is still standing. So the town isworth a visit.

Should you arrive on October 25, you’ll notice demonsprancing about in the street. It’s a festival in honor of Ten-jin. The rest of the year, the masks and costumes may beviewed in their storeroom.

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Mt. Fuji

In July and August millions of Japanese arrive at Fuji.They have traveled by automobile, bus, or train. Some arewearing the white robe and conical hat of a pilgrim; therest, hiking garb. They have come to climb the mountain.It is both a religious occasion and a holiday trek.*

Leading to the summit are six trails.† Each has ten sta-

* Pilgrimages to the summit of Fuji became popular during theEdo era (1603–1867). Men came from around the country. Asthey climbed, they rang bells and chanted: “May our senses bepure and the weather fair.” Women (until a century ago) werebanned from Fuji—the reason being given that Sengen mightbecome jealous. For those unable or not permitted to make thepilgrimage, a number of miniature Fujis were constructed inEdo. One of these rock piles has survived, in the courtyard of atemple in the Asakusa district.

† “There are many paths up Mt. Fuji,” goes a proverb—refer-ring to the multiple routes to Truth.

tions—rest areas with sleeping huts, food, and drink. Stan-dard practice is to motor to a fifth station and begin there—about a five-hour hike. There is also a footpath known as“the boundary between heaven and earth,” circling themountain about a mile below the summit.

Tourists are welcome to join in. Bring along a sweater forthe summit. Wear a sturdy pair of shoes—you’ll be walkingon volcanic rubble. And buy a Fuji-stick (sold at stands). Itwill help you to negotiate the slope. And at each station itwill be branded, to provide a memento of your progress.

Adventuresome? Climb at night. Besides avoiding theheat, you’ll reach the summit in time for sunrise. A Fuji sun-rise is spectacular. You’ll see why the mountain has beencalled the home of the gods. Spread below are clouds, farm-land, and towns. Mountains, coastline, and sea. A panoramathat comes alive as Amaterasu rises from the sea.

The prospect of the sight will spur you on. So will theshouts of “Gambatte!” (“Press on!”) from your fellow climb-ers. For even at night you will be part of a line snaking itsway up the trail. This communality is a key part of the expe-rience. A people is climbing its sacred mountain.

At the summit you will find the crater (remember, Fuji isa volcano). There is also a shrine to Sengen; a noodle shop(have a bowl, to fortify yourself against the cold); a souvenir

shop and post office.A quick way down is the Gotemba Trail. Much of it is

volcanic sand, which has inspired the custom of sunabashi.Sand-sliding!

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Okinoshima

In ancient times a major sea lane went by the island ofOkinoshima. So the god of waterways made his home here.Only his priests could step foot on the island.

Sailors brought offerings to the god—objects such asjewelry or suits of armor. The priests would leave theseamid the rocks.

Due to the sacredness of Okinoshima, the objects wentuntouched over the centuries. They have now been recov-ered by archeologists, and are on display at MunakataShrine—a mainland shrine associated with the island.

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BathingFew pleasures can compare with that of o-furo—the

Japanese bath. Just look at someone immersed in one. Hishalf-shut eyes—distant expression—contented murmur—say it all. He is somewhere else…and in no hurry to getback.

An imperial edict once ordered all Japanese to bathe reg-ularly. The edict is no longer necessary. Throughout theland and at all levels of society, o-furo has become a cher-ished tradition.

It is also a complex tradition—at once hedonistic, thera-peutic, and spiritual. Hedonistic, because the goal is plea-sure. Therapeutic, because the benefits are lasting. Andspiritual, because the roots of o-furo lie in Shinto. Thosepurification rituals fostered a national mania for bathing.

Most Japanese bathe at home, in large, comfortable tubs.(A family may bathe in hierarchical order, starting with thefather, or as a group.) But for those who lack a tub—or whoenjoy the sociability—there are public baths called sento.A sento has the congenial atmosphere of a neighborhoodtavern. In its steamy environs, the regulars gather daily tobathe, chat, and relax.

During your stay in Japan, you must experience a com-munal bath. Adventurous? Seek out a sento. Though sur-prised to see a foreigner wander in, the regulars will wel-come you.*

Or simply stay at an old-fashioned inn. Its baths will becommunal—part of the traditional lifestyle that has beenpreserved at inns. And you will be expected to bathe. Here’sthe procedure:

Don your yukata (it will be laid out on a tray in your

* Don’t wander into a soapland by mistake. Soaplands are estab-lishments in which scantily-clad women provide bubble baths,massages, and other services. They were formerly called toruko-buro—Turkish baths—but were required to change their nameafter protests from the Turkish government.

room); grab soap and towel; and head for the bath. Lookfor the door marked (male) or (female).*

Leave your yukata in a locker and enter the bath hall. Youwill behold a pool or sizeable tub, in whose steaming waterssit your fellow bathers. But don’t get in yet.

You’ll see a wall with faucets, basins, and stools. Go thereand wash with soap. You MUST do this. It is mandatory. Onedoes NOT wash in the bath. To do so would elicit stares ofdisbelief.

So don’t wash in the bath—that’s not what it’s for. Washbefore getting in. Sit on a stool, scrub with soap, rinse your-self.†

Now you may enter the bath. One more warning. As youwalk about, it is customary to carry your towel in such away as to cover your private parts. (This probably goes backto the days of mixed bathing.)

Get into the water. You’ll find it unbearably hot. But tryto suppress that screech of dismay. It is not in good form,and will only serve to draw unwanted attention to yourself.In any case, you’ll soon get used to the temperature.

Now soak. Relax. Enjoy the sense of well-being—thepure pleasure—that is the essence of o-furo. If you wish,converse with those near you. Or drift into a stupor.

When you are profoundly renewed, return to your room.Dinner will be waiting.

You have experienced o-furo. You have undergone thatcleansing of body and soul with which the Japanese con-clude their day. (For as evening approaches, there are fewwho do not seek out the watery embrace—the solace—theglory of a tub.) You have been initiated.

And you are ready—in your exploration of bathing cus-toms—for a visit to an on-sen.

* Separate baths are the rule nowadays. Mixed bathing used tobe customary, but has become limited to small towns and certainresorts.

† This is so ingrained in Japanese that they have been known—when traveling abroad—to commit an egregious error of theirown. Before getting into a Western-style tub, they soap them-selves and pour water over their head—thereby flooding thefloor.

On-sen are the hot springs that abound in Japan. Thou-sands of these steaming pools gush up from the depths ofthe earth. The same volcanic activity that causes destruc-tion also produces thermal waters—as if to make amends.

For the waters are believed to have curative powers—tooffer relief from a long list of ailments. And since on-sentend to be located in the mountains or by the sea, peopletravel to them for both cures and vacations. This has led tothe rise of resorts.

The resorts vary in character. The more lavish featureindoor pools, built over the spring and furnished with trop-ical plants, grottoes, waterslides. To supplement the waters,guests are provided with copious amounts of food anddrink. A center for such excess is the resort town of Beppu(which could almost be in Florida). You can buy postcardviews of its garish attractions, including the “Hells” (bub-bling pools of mud stocked with crocodiles). If the urge isuncontrollable, visit Beppu.

But tasteful, traditional spas are just as plentiful. Withtheir modest hotels and rustic lodges, these places draw amore sober clientele: seekers of a cure or a communion withnature. Their location is usually scenic and unspoiled. Andtheir open-air pools offer a direct exposure to the splendorsof nature.

One such place is the Bokido Cave, or the Cave thatMakes One Forget About Returning Home. This isolatedcavern contains a hot spring and overlooks the sea. You soakin thermal waters…emit moans of pleasure that echo fromthe walls…gaze out at the sea. The sense of well-being is

overwhelming.The Bokido Cave is located on a peninsula in Kinki

province. It can be reached by train. Go there and bathe inwaters of forgetfulness.

But remember…you may not come back.

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Dos and Don’tsAs a gaijin—a foreigner—you will be noticeable while

in Japan. You will stand out. Everything about you—yourlooks, accent, mannerisms, movements, confusion in pub-lic places—will serve to label you as a stranger. And you willbe regarded as an oddity. When you walk down the street,people will stare at you—as if at a penguin waddling by.And while the Japanese will strive to make you feel at homein their country, they will be aware at all times of the un-bridgeable gap between your ways and theirs.

Yet that gap can be narrowed—or at least rendered lessconspicuous. You can succeed in attracting less attention.How? By learning a few simple dos and don’ts, in regard topersonal behavior.

I have assembled a list of these dos and don’ts. If you planto visit Japan, I urge you to master them. They could spareyou much embarrassment and discomfiture.

Let’s start with the dos.

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Do slurp your noodle soup

Noodles are a popular light meal in Japan. The maintypes are wheat (udon) and buckwheat (soba). They areserved in a tasty broth.

Your bowl of noodles will be placed in front of you. Raiseit and dig in. The noodles are eaten with chopsticks. Thebroth is drunk directly from the bowl.

But contrary to Western etiquette, the broth is not mere-ly drunk—it is slurped. As noisily as possible! An expressionof satisfaction, the sounds will be taken as a compliment byyour host. Their absence, on the other hand, could plungehim into despair.*

* Slurping is also customary during the Tea Ceremony. As youtake your final sip, slurp loudly. This communicates to the hostthat you have concluded—and enjoyed—your portion of tea.

Do use both hands when presentingyour business card

Business cards (meishi) are routinely exchanged in Japan—in a prescribed manner. The two men face one anotherand withdraw their card holders (kept in an inside jacketpocket). The individual with the lower status offers his cardfirst. As a mark of respect, it must be presented with bothhands. To use only one hand would be taken as rude.

The exchanged cards are read. Then both men bow.Such factors as the other’s age and job title determine thedepths of their bows.

Don’t forget to bow slightly to one side, so as not tobump heads.

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Do drive on the left side of the road

When Japan decided to modernize, she borrowed eclec-tically from the West. Her legal code was based on that ofGermany. Her educational system was structured like thatof the U.S., but administered like that of France. In eachcase, a judgement was made as to the best available model.

In the realm of transport, it was decided to adopt theBritish custom of driving on the left. Why? Perhaps theisland-dwelling Japanese saw themselves as kindred spiritsto the British—equally insular, equally eccentric.

Whatever the reason, just do it. Drive on the left while inJapan. Don’t be out of step on this one!

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Do drape the left side of your yukataover the right

One of the great pleasures of Japan is the yukata. Aninformal type of kimono, this loose, comfortable garment isworn about the house. Think of it as a combination bath-robe, casual wear, and pajamas. It is perfect for loungingafter a bath, taking an evening stroll, meditating in the gar-den. The yukata is also worn at hot springs, health clubs,

and ryokan. In short, whenever you want to relax.Donning a yukata is easy. Just slip into it as you would

into a bathrobe. But an important point: be sure to drape theleft side over the right. The reverse—the right side over theleft—is reserved for corpses being laid out for funeral.

I know you’re eager to start relaxing. But pay attentionand get this detail right.

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Do take your shoes off before enteringa Japanese home

For reasons of ritual purity and aesthetic sensibility,Japanese remove their shoes upon entering a private home.The idea is to prevent dirt from being tracked in off thestreet. You MUST observe this custom—it is de rigueur. Here’show it works:

Entering a house, you’ll find yourself in the genkan (“ves-tibule”). Step out of your shoes and into the house prop-er—without letting your stocking feet touch the floor of thegenkan.

Just inside will be a pair of wool or cotton slippers. Donthem. They are to be worn in hallways, on stairs, and in thekitchen. You may now proceed into the house.

But when you arrive at a room whose floor is coveredwith mats, come to a halt. Remove the slippers and enter in

your stocking feet. Matted rooms are the living areas of thehouse. And since people sit and dine on them, the mats arekept scrupulously clean.

(If the room is carpeted, removal of slippers may not benecessary. Check with your host.)

Got it so far? But wait, there’s more.When you leave a matted room, redon your slippers.

Keep them on for any hallway, stairway, or kitchen. But if you go to the lavatory, awaiting you on the thresh-

old will be a pair of slippers—a special, plastic pair. Theseare for use in the lavatory. Remove your regular slippers anddon these.

So if you’re going from the living room to the lavatory,you must do the following:

a) don your slippers as you leave the living room b) keep them on as you pass through the kitchenc) switch to plastic pair at the lavatoryd) redon your slippers for passing through the kitchen e) remove them as you reenter the living room.

I know this sounds complicated. But the entire proce-dure will soon become second-nature…and even start tomake aesthetic sense.

In any case, you MUST learn to do it. The protocols offootwear are fundamental to the Japanese way of life.

And now the don’ts.

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Don’t ask for a substitute beverageat the Tea Ceremony

You may NOT request iced tea, decaf, coffee, diet soda,mineral water, or anything else! Tradition demands thateach guest be served the same thing: green tea that has beenprepared—in the ancient manner—from a powder. Acceptthis tradition.

The tea hut is not a snack bar.

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Don’t do any of the followingwith chopsticks

1) spear food with a single chopstick2) leave chopsticks sticking upright in a bowl of rice

(this is done only when offering rice to the spirits of thedead)

3) lay them directly on the table (instead, take the pack-age they came in and fold it into a makeshift rest)

4) hold them behind someone’s head to simulate horns(such antics are acceptable only if a large quantity of sakehas been drunk by all)

Don’t pour soy sauce on your rice

The illustrator of this book did so, and was gently chid-ed by his host. It was explained to him that a bowlful of riceis complete—is noble in its unadorned state.

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Don’t use soap in a public bath

A major gaffe.

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Don’t mistake lockers at the train stationfor a capsule hotel

These coin-operated receptacles are for stowing awayyour luggage—not for spending the night.

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RobotsNo visit to Japan would be complete without a look at its

technological marvels. And perhaps the most amazing ofthese are the robots.

The first Japanese robot was fourteen inches tall, wore arobe, and moved about on wheels. His function was to servetea. You wound him up and placed a cup of tea on his tray.And off he went. Head bobbing, he rolled up to a guest—halting as the cup was removed. Replacement of the cupcaused him to turn around and roll back.

The tea-server was built in the 1600s by a clockmakernamed Takeda. He exhibited it and similar automata in thepleasure district of Osaka. Later generations of his family,and other craftsmen, built more of these devices. But the artwas eventually forgotten; and automata disappeared fromJapan (save for a handful preserved on festival floats).

But today they are back—a new and dynamic breed ofthem. Their return had its roots in the comic books calledmanga. During the 50s robot heroes began to appear inmanga stories. Several—Mighty Atom, Iron Man, Dorae-mon (a robot cat)—became popular, and were featured infilms and marketed as toys. The affection inspired by thesefictional robots predisposed the Japanese to welcome(rather than mistrust) the real thing when it arrived.

And arrive it did, as factories began to automate in the 70s.Though originating in the U.S., the industrial robot foundits true home in Japan—a nation that was booming eco-nomically but experiencing labor shortages. Robots becamea familiar sight on assembly lines, helping to weld cars orassemble radios. They were the most versatile of workers.Robot carts delivered materials. Robot inspectors checkedfor quality. Robot cleaners moved about the floor. Like theJapanese themselves, they were hardworking and dedicated.

The majority of robots were manufactured by a compa-ny called FANUC. As FANUC expanded, so did the role ofrobots. No longer were they restricted to factory jobs.Robots entered the building trades, making concrete slabs.

They inspected utility pipes—by rolling along inside them!And a huge, eight-legged robot went to work in Tokyo Bay,preparing the seabed for construction.

Nor were robots confined to blue-collar jobs. Several foundemployment at science museums, greeting the public. Onebecame the receptionist at a video-game company. Anotherachieved recognition in the arts: playing piano with an or-chestra (and performing on one occasion for the Emperor).

But their great success has been as sushi makers. In hun-dreds of restaurants, sushi robots stamp out the rice pattiesand dab the horseradish. (The fish is added by humans.) Asushi robot can work three times as fast as a chef. And the pat-ties are of the highest quality—perfectly shaped and textured.

Japan is now the home of the largest and most diverserobot population in the world. Industrial robots play amajor role in the economy. Sophisticated toy robots arefound in virtually every household. And robot vendors—state-of-the-art vending machines, with synthetic voicesand other abilities—have become a familiar part of theurban landscape.

What’s next? Anything is possible. Perhaps FANUC willcome up with a robot Zen Master. He would sit and pon-der the Void. And he would dispense wisdom. You’d deposita coin in his begging bowl. And lo—a wise saying, or koan,or explanation of Zen.

Q & ALet’s conclude with some questions and answers.

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Why are temple bells rung 108 times on New Year’sDay?

Japanese Buddhism recognizes 108 sins or wicked de-sires. Each ring is meant to banish one of these, that peoplemay begin the year with a clean slate.

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What is the Insect Hearing Festival?Many Japanese keep a cricket, grasshopper, or cicada as

a musical pet. It is housed in a bamboo cage, and fed slicesof cucumber or eggplant. At night it sings.

Toward the end of summer the Insect Hearing Festival isheld. In the evening, caged insects are brought to shrinesand parks. After a ceremony they are released. And anorchestral din fills the air, as the insects rejoice in theirreturn to Nature.

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Who is the Kokuzo?He is the Emperor’s deputy at the Shrine of Izumo. The

holder of this office was once a powerful and venerated fig-ure—a kind of pope. The story is told of a worshiper whowished to give a gift to the Kokuzo. He commissioned a tai-lor to make an elegant robe. When the tailor presented himwith the bill, he gasped—the amount was ridiculous! “Whyso much?” he cried. The tailor replied: “Now that I havemade a robe for the Venerable Kokuzo, I cannot in thefuture make a robe for anyone else. So I must charge youenough to support me for the rest of my days.”

You mentioned a festival in honor of Tenjin. Who isTenjin?

Tenjin is the god of learning. He was originally a scholarnamed Sugawara Michizane, who was deified after hisdeath. Students pray to him for success in exams, and makepilgrimages to his shrine.

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What is the fortunetelling bird?A trained bird is sometimes found among the amuse-

ments at festivals. It is kept in a cage beside a miniatureshrine. When the cage is opened, the bird hops over to theshrine. It pulls a string and rings a bell (as if to attract theattention of the kami). Then it hops up the stairs, enters theshrine, and emerges with a slip of paper in its bill. On thepaper is your fortune.

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Is it true that an employee of the Library of Congresswas given to the Emperor and Empress of Japan as a gift?

Possibly. Here is what theGazette—the newsletter of theLibrary of Congress—reported in its June 17, 1994 issue:

During their visit to the U.S., the Emperor and Empressstopped by the Library. They were shown the Great Halland introduced to dignitaries. Their Majesties were thenpresented with a facsimile of Hiroshige’s sketchbooks, and“other gifts, including a specially bound copy of Treasuresof the Library of Congress by Charles Goodrum and thePublic Affairs Office’s Helen Dalrymple.”

The syntax gives rise to an ambiguity. Did the giftsinclude Helen Dalrymple? Or was she merely co-author ofthe book?

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What is Noh drama?Noh is the classical theater of Japan. It is characterized by

masks, poetical language, and slow-motion dancing. A Nohplay seeks primarily to communicate an emotional experi-ence. A flute and drums provide music. From a chorus arisestrange cries.

Noh can be difficult for a foreigner to appreciate or com-prehend. Moreover, a performance lasts about six hours. Itis permissible to take a break. is the sign for exit.

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Is there an etiquette warning on cigarette packages inJapan?

Printed on some packages is the admonition: “Observegood smoking manners.”

But a sterner injunction has been issued by wives to theirhusbands. (Most smokers are male.) They have been tellingthem to take those offensive fumes outside. This has givenrise to the term “firefly people”—referring to the men whosmoke on balconies at night.

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Is it true that Hokusai would walk through the streetschanting Buddhist prayers?

Yes—but he did so to avoid having to make idle conver-sation.

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What is the Baku?The Baku is a supernatural creature that prowls the

night—looking for bad dreams to eat. People used to keepa picture of the Baku near their beds. It was supposed toprevent nightmares and unlucky dreams.

Belief in the Baku has declined. But there remains a pop-ular expression. When a bizarre dream is recounted, some-one may say: “That’s one not even the Baku would eat.”

Lafcadio Hearn wrote a fable called “The Eater ofDreams.” In it he awakens from a nightmare; and the Bakucomes through his window. “Have you anything for me

to eat?” the creature asks. He describes his nightmare—inwhich he attacked a monstrous version of himself with anax—and cries out:

“Devour, O Baku! Devour the dream!”“Nay!” made answer the Baku. “I never eat lucky dreams.

That is a very lucky dream,—a most fortunate dream…The axe—yes! the Axe of the Excellent Law, by which themonster of Self is utterly destroyed! The best kind of adream! My friend, I believe in the teaching of the Buddha.”

And the Baku went out of the window. I looked afterhim;—and I beheld him fleeing over the miles of moonlitroofs,—passing, from house-top to house-top, with amaz-ing soundless leaps,—like a great cat.

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Who was Lafcadio Hearn?Hearn was a journalist who came to Japan in 1889 to

write a series of articles. He stayed for the rest of his life,having become enamored of the country.

He was drawn to its traditional culture—to “the peopleof Old Japan…honest to a fault, innocent of the furtherworld, loyal to the ancient traditions and the ancient gods.”Hearn married a Japanese woman, adopted Japanese dress,became a Japanese citizen. And from his travels andresearch, he wrote eloquently of a feudal world that wasrapidly vanishing. His books were once widely read inAmerica; they are now crumbling on library shelves.

To the ways and spirit of Old Japan, there is no betterguide than Lafcadio Hearn.

I have heard that the Japanese celebrate Christmas?Can this be?

A secularized version of it has become popular in recentyears. The focus is on gift-giving. Department stores—withfestive decorations and roaming Santas—are jammed withshoppers. And on Kirisumasu eve, families gather to singcarols, enjoy a chicken dinner, and exchange gifts. They areonly dimly aware that the holiday has a religious signifi-cance in the West.

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Is it true that a teakettle once performed in Japanesevaudeville?

Apparently so. The story is told of a kettle belonging toMorinji temple in Joshiu province. One day the monks putit on the fire—and were astonished to see it sprout the head,tail, and legs of a badger! The transformed kettle began torace about the room. The monks chased after it. When theycaught it, the kettle returned to its normal shape.

It was obviously possessed by a tanuki, or goblin badger.Wishing to be rid of such a kettle—it could only cause trou-ble—the monks took it into town and gave it away to ajunk dealer.

That night the junk dealer was awoke by a sound. Thekettle—having again sprouted the head, tail, and legs of abadger—was dashing about. The junk dealer stared in aston-ishment. But unlike the monks, he saw an opportunity.

He taught the badger-kettle to dance and to walk a tight-rope. Then he went on tour with it. People flocked to seeit perform; and for years the junk dealer was provided witha living. Upon retiring, he returned the kettle to Morinjitemple—where it was preserved as a treasure.

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What were the floating wine cups?They were a feature of banquets held by idle aristocrats

in Kyoto. The guests were seated in intervals along a

stream. Down the stream floated cups of wine. As a cupcame by, the guest lifted it from the water, took a sip, andrecited a poem. Then he floated it on to the next guest.

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Is it really possible for Westerners—caught up as weare in rationalism and analytical thought—to attain anydegree of Zen consciousness?

Absolutely. Just empty your mind.

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Does Japan have mysterious lights and flames?Japan abounds in them. According to F. Hadland Davis,

a British antiquarian of the last century:

There are many varieties of fire apparitions in Japan. Thereis the ghost-fire, demon-light, fox-flame, flash-pillar, badger-blaze, dragon-torch, and lamp of Buddha. In addition super-natural fire is said to emanate from certain birds, such asthe blue heron.…There are also fire-wheels, or messengersfrom Hades, sea-fires, besides the flames that spring fromthe cemetery.

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Do the Japanese have the equivalent of a bar-mitzvah?They do in the Oki islands. During the Festival of the

Dead, the islanders build boats of straw. The boats are for

the departing spirits—and for anyone who has recentlycome of age. Dressed in red, solemn-faced youths climbaboard; and the boats are towed out to sea. Just before thefragile craft sink, the youths are pulled out.

When they join in the dancing that night, it will nolonger be as children.

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How many haiku masters does it take to change a lightbulb?

The drone of crickets, a distant bark.His contented murmur. Sitting in the dark.

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One last question. How would you sum up the essenceof the Japanese spirit?

With this passage from F. Hadland Davis:

There is a Japanese phrase, mono no aware wo shiru (“theAh-ness of things”), which seems to describe most accu-rately the whole significance of Japanese poetry.…Nearlyall Japan’s people, from the peasant to the Mikado himself,are poets. They write poetry because they live poetry everyday of their lives—that is to say, before Japan dreamed ofwearing a bowler hat and frock-coat, or became a wholesalebuyer of everything Western. They live poetry, always thatpoetry steeped in an intimate communion with Nature.And when in July the Festival of the Dead takes place, therecomes a great company of poet souls to see Nippon’s blos-som again, to wander down old familiar gardens, throughred torii, or to lean upon a stone lantern, and drink in theglory of a summer day, which is sweeter to them than lifebeyond the grave.

http://www.professorsolomon.com

Also by Professor Solomon:

“Coney Island”A history and profile of the legendary amusement area

To download a free copy of this book, go to:

http://www.professorsolomon.com/cibookpage.html

To download a free copy of this book, go to:http://www.professorsolomon.com/ufobookpage.html

Also by Professor Solomon:

“How to Make the Most of a FlyingSaucer Experience”

A comprehensive and entertaining guide to UFOs.Includes tales of contactees, facts about the Space People,and numerous illustrations. Plus, Professor Solomon’s tips—for making the most of a flying saucer experience!

“The Book of King Solomon”A life of King Solomon, written by his court historian!

Translated and Annotated by Professor SolomonAn engaging book—highly recommended to anyone wantingto learn more about “the wisest of men,” his place in history,

and his relevance today.

To download a free copy of this book, go to:http://www.professorsolomon.com/kingsolomonpage.html

Professor SolomonFinder of Lost Objects

Hi, I’m Professor Solomon, creator ofan AMAZING METHOD for finding lostobjects.

Have you lost something? Have youmisplaced your keys, wallet, or othervital possession? Is it hiding from you,somewhere in your home or office?Well, I can help you find it.

How? With my 12 Principles:

http://www.professorsolomon.com/12principles.html

And I’m currently aboard a UFO—visiting my friends fromOuter Space. To view us, go to:

http://www.professorsolomon.com/saucercam.html